


Everything You Want

by ohioinmymind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, and future boysex, and they've been bffs forever, and zayn works in a record store, brb dying in feels, but it's just a little weed bro, how hot is that?, it can't get hotter, rated for language, swimmer!liam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 106,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohioinmymind/pseuds/ohioinmymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn never knew how much he wanted Liam until he got to watch him be with someone else. But they've been best friends since they were in grade school and a quick fuck isn't worth losing a thirteen year friendship. So Zayn gets lost in the music and works in a shitty record store with Harry, while Louis plots to get away from home and Niall and El are the laziest cheerleaders in the history of ever. And Liam--well, Liam spends his time chatting up his ex's and driving Zayn crazy in that tiny fucking speedo. It's all just a mess, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. there's always something more you wish he'd say

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters in this fic. Obvs if I owned One Direction I wouldn't be sharing. :P
> 
> Ah, hello again! 
> 
> Well, here's the bff!ziam i promised, with sassy cheerlearders Niall and El. Also, Liam and Louis swim? Ik Louis doesn't have a regular swimmer's body, but him and Liam in the water just gives me brotp Lilo feels. 
> 
> Sidenote, this is only a Ziam story, not really side Larry. There are plenty of mentions of Larry, but they don't have a character arc. Maybe Louis, but not Louis and Harry together. That sounds way confusing, but I don't want to draw you in with false hope. 
> 
> Anyhow, read it? Love it? Hate it? Leave me a comment or something. That's like, the best thing. So enjoy, maybe?

There wasn’t a significant event in Zayn’s life that he’s gone through without Liam. Liam was always there, almost like a shadow, a light casting after the darkness, or something really fucking deep like that. They took up the same space; they existed in the same time. Liam was always wrapped around Zayn and Zayn was always tucked beside Liam.

There were times when it was exceptionally annoying, he won’t lie.

Like how he met Liam, when he was too young to make his own decisions about who he would be friends with. And how Liam had always been a hugger, subjecting Zayn to armfuls of a young Liam, with sweat on the thick of his brow and mud on his Toy Story sneakers. And that used to annoy Zayn, how clingy he was, until Liam got older and went off to camp with Louis and came back hot as fuck. Then Zayn stopped wanting to share with all the snot-nosed girls and confused boys that fell victim to Liam’s kind smile and warm eyes.

Zayn could never get laid because of it. That was one con, probably the only fucking one, because the absence of a good lay didn’t really compare to being able to cuddle on the couch and watch old cartoons with Liam, and stretch out and hold his hand for comfort, all under the guise of a strong friendship. Girls didn’t like that, that Zayn was so close to Liam. That Zayn liked to touch him and be touched by him but would never admit it out loud. Guys hated it even more.

But he wasn’t lonely, with Liam and Harry and the rest of their rag-tag bunch of friends, he could never grant himself the privilege of being lonely. Liam just made him feel lonely, and that was the annoying part. That was what dug underneath Zayn’s skin and settled there, like a parasite making a home in Zayn’s heart, where he was the most vulnerable. A lot like Liam had. Liam got fucked. Liam was able to be in relationships and walk down the school corridor with girls on his arm and sleazy guys making eyes at him with their arms slung over his shoulder.

That’s what sucked. That’s the only downside to whatever the fuck he and Liam have going on. Zayn can’t claim Liam. No one will break up with Liam for kissing Zayn’s shoulder or hugging him for a beat too long, because it’s familiar to them. They’ve seen it as they were growing up and the idea that Liam would cheat on anyone with Zayn is apparently absurd.

And fuck them if it isn’t true. Fuck them if they’re right and Zayn will forever remain lost in the brown of Liam’s eyes and the curve of Liam’s smile. And fuck Liam, too, if he looks right past Zayn and doesn’t see that he deserves a chance more than some girl in a short skirt, or some guy with greasy hair and a fucked up sense of humor. Screw Liam.

Screw Liam because Zayn wasn’t one to whine. He didn’t cry tears of frustration over anyone, especially not over anyone who didn’t return the favor. Zayn stayed in his room, or down at the shop. And he listened to his music just a little too loud, because rhythms and beats made sense to him where heartache and unreciprocated emotions just didn’t.

No matter what Louis said, or even Niall and Harry and El, Zayn didn’t cry over spilt milk, except when it came to Liam. He didn’t react to anything, really, unless Liam was involved. 

He didn’t give a shit about Louis’ wild dreams of going State side and acting his way to the top, a secret he’d shared with Zayn while they drunkly filled out applications to some dumb school in California, where Zayn could be close to music and Louis could pursue his real dream. It was mostly the alcohol talking anyway. Zayn didn’t really care about fucking awesome music industry on the other side of the world. He didn’t. And he wasn’t worried about Harry and his quest to save up enough money to follow Louis to London, where they had always talked about going. And he didn’t care that Niall had no fucking clue what he was going to do after he finished school.

He was a little nostalgic about leaving El behind when he graduated, but she would be fine. Because she would still have Niall and Harry and Liam. And Zayn would always come back here for that reason alone, regardless if he went or stayed.  Zayn was concerned about Liam and he didn’t see that little shit worming his way out of Zayn’s heart anytime soon, so El would be just fine. Everyone would be just fine.

Now that he thinks about it, sits and stews over the idea with a joint in his mouth in the backseat of his car, with the smoke rolling out of the window’s enough to give Zayn some breathing room, but not enough to draw attention—Liam has always been his number one priority. Since he smashed Zayn in his small little arms and refused to let the older boy go.

And true to his intent, Liam never did let go, ever.

He didn’t let go when Zayn was seven and everyone laughed when he tripped over his own feet and busted his chin open on the sidewalk. No, Zayn thinks Liam cried even fucking harder than he did. And he didn’t let go when Zayn got grounded for a month, for swiping one of those cool echo microphones when he was eleven. Liam’s collection of comic books for over a month, but Zayn didn’t mind, because Liam let Zayn sleep under his new Toy Story sheets, and he thought that was seriously generous enough.

So Liam stuck around for Zayn’s new kick for smoking and Zayn thought Liam was still the best friend in the world even after he shaved his head and got shit for joining the swim team. Those little Speedo’s would be the death of him, but Zayn was in it for the long haul. They shared PB&J sandwiches at lunch until they were old enough to drive off campus, or catch a ride with one of their older siblings. Zayn picked Liam off the floor when his girlfriend of two years moved away and broke his heart by slutting it up the second she got out of town.

He even encouraged Liam to date again, knowing it would kill him inside, and winced when Liam had to start dating guys, picking the runts of the litter and trampling all over Zayn’s fucking heart with every guy and girl he added to the line up. He was in this for the long haul.

That would be much easier to deal with, though, if Zayn could stop seeing red every time Liam paraded down the hall with yet another abhorring female on his arm, or a guy smiling sly at him, getting a warm grin in return, a grin that belonged to Zayn and no one else. Zayn made Liam smile like that. Not Danielle, not Leona and especially not that jackass Andy Samuels.

So really, besides that hellacious issue, things would be going great for Zayn. They would be fantastic. He wouldn’t have anything to worry about if he could just stop getting boners every time Liam took off his goddamn shirt.

**/////**

Ed’s Record Store is just about as glamorous as it sounds. It’s nothing fancy by any means. It sits on the corner of an inner-city street, kind of like Main Street, but with more attractions. Like the grocery store across the street and the rustic furniture shop that’s run by an old man and his wife during the day time.

There’s dust high up in the corners, where even Harry wasn’t tall enough to reach with that nifty little Swiffer duster they picked up from the market when a cobweb fell of a customer the week before last. Zayn can pride himself on saying that he has an excellent organization system, ranging from shitty music to less shitty music to good music to really fucking great music. Albeit, Ed has told him to put the records back in alphabetical order almost too many times to count, Zayn likes things the way they are.

But it was nice of his boss to ask.

The bell above the door rang when Zayn’s pushed it open, it was one of those annoying cowbell type things that were more of a nuisance than an assistance. He let the glass door close behind him and smiled at Bonnie, Ed’s girlfriend, who was working the counter until Zayn was released from the confines of stuffy classrooms and able to come here and breathe in the familiar scent of home.

Whatever, work was better than school, especially if you had the hook up like Zayn did.

Zayn ran his fingers over their catalog of vinyl, and he grimaced when he looked back at the wall of CDs toward the rear of the store. Zayn hated that they sold fucking compact disks in a _record_ store. It made his stomach turn on the inside, like he’d just swallowed something sour, but it paid their salary, so he couldn’t bitch at Ed too much for his feeble backbone towards conformity of the modern world. No, Zayn wasn’t that much of a music snob. But it still made him really fucking sick.

Bonnie grinned halfheartedly at Zayn. The light that shone through the windows extending from the floor to the ceiling did wonders for her skin tone. He might have even called her attractive if Zayn was into girls, or older women, or getting fired. She wouldn’t look his way twice anyway; he didn’t have a dimply smile or silken curls across his forehead and his name wasn’t Harry Styles.

She was nice regardless, he thinks. Her boyfriend provided him with a check at the end of the week, he could care less if she winked at Harry more than she did Zayn. He would prefer it, in fact. Zayn liked his work related problems like he liked his relationships; nonexistent.

“How ya doing today, Bon?” Zayn tossed his backpack under the cabinet near the register, wincing when he saw it slide a bit farther than he’d intended, colliding with the heavy coating of dust on the floor. Shit, he’d have to clean that when he got home. Also, someone really needed to fucking sweep around here. He’d put a broom in Harry’s hands as soon as he came in the door. Better him than Zayn. “Where’s Ed today? Drunk again, as usual?”

Bonnie smiles at him and logs out of her register, gathering her receipts and slipping her name tag from her neck. She regards him with speculating glance, taking in the absence of his partner in crime. “Where’s Harry today? Running late again, as usual?”

“No,” Zayn replies, tapping his code into the register and digging his nametag out from the box of shit he and Harry had stiffed under the counter. He ignore the snark in her voice and chalks it up to another one of her and Ed’s tiffs. Or her obsession with Harry in general. Zayn didn’t really care. “Harry’s car broke down again and he was taking too long for him to catch a ride with me, so he’s riding over with Liam and Louis.”

Zayn hoists himself up on the countertop and smiles at the security cameras, just for the hell of it. He knows Ed’ll get a kick out of it. Or he’ll get fired for putting his ass where they have to interact with customers. He’s hoping for the prior.

“Do you think he’ll be here anytime soon? I might know a guy who knows a guy. I could get him a discount, if he’s willing to put in the extra hours for it.” She pries with too much interest and lingers around the front of the store, when she should be leaving. Normally when Zayn came in to take over her shift she was gone in an instant, the only thing left in her wake being the cloud of dust and a message to tell Harry she said hello. “What is Harry driving these days, a Lincoln?”

Of course Harry had to be on schedule today and Zayn had to deal with Bonnie and all her bullshit questions until then.

“He drives a Honda,” Zayn corrects, pulling a rumpled bag of Skittles from his pocket and dumping a few into his hand. He always had to throw out the purple ones. The purples ones were the worst. Or were they brown? Mahogany? Either way, they were gross as fuck. “ _Does he drive a Lincoln,_ ” Zayn mocks. “He’s not eighty-five, he’s eighteen with a job that doesn’t pay shit.”

He smiles around a handful of colored candy when he hears the distinct rumble of Liam’s truck pulling up. Another car pulls up at the same time a couple spaces down, Zayn sees when he looks out the long wall of windows. He sets his Skittles to the side and hops down from his place on the counter, dusting off the back of his pants and stepping to the front of the store, where Bonnie had finally departed in turn to go outside and greet Harry when he climbed out of Liam’s truck. The car opposite Liam’s truck happens to be the first customer of his shift and he smoothes out the wrinkles on his shirt and stands near the door upon her entrance.

Work time.

Zayn greets the customer, a petite girl with a pretty face and blonde hair. He smiled at her and listened to her requests with one ear while he peeked out the window at the awkward encounter of Harry, Harry’s boyfriend, and the grown woman that he truly believed wanted to bang Harry at the very least.

He tried not to wince when he heard the girl’s selection of music, but he did well not to openly rip his soul from his chest as he led her to where he’d stocked the harsh croonings of Taylor Swift and agreed that, yes, she was the greatest singer, like ever. Zayn smiles patiently at her while she explains that she couldn’t find her older music anywhere, and that she’s so glad she could find some other truly great music next to Old Swifty’s records.

He could lead her to the other side of the store, the one with old BoyzIIMen vinyl’s were collecting dust, along with Maxwell and the ever so random Al Green track Ed had brought in. But he doubted this girl, with a fresh piece of bubblegum in her mouth and sunshine and happiness in her hair owed a record player. The slappings of her flip-flops on the tile and the insistent recommendation of Britney Spears made him think she wouldn’t really appreciate his taste in music, so he kept his mouth shut and let her wax poetic about the fucking teardrops on her guitar.

This job, he swears.

Harry’s still in the parking lot with Bonnie and Louis when Zayn’s ringing the girl up. He should have caught her name, but he didn’t. “Thanks for the help, um… Zayn?”

She leaned over the counter to get a better glance at the rectangular piece of cardstock that held his picture and a sloppy scrawling of his name. She batted her eyes real pretty and looked up at him through her lashes, a patented move derived straight from those teeny-bobber magazines Zayn’s sister likes to make him buy at the checkout line. “You’re more than welcome, babe. Come back any time.”

Her cheeks flush a heavy red that goes from her face and travels fast to her neck. He smiles at her again, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to tell her that will move her from his register and back into her goddamn Prius. Liam and Louis swear up and down that Zayn’s a genius with girls, but he just doesn’t see it.

Someone laughs behind her, and Zayn hadn’t even noticed Liam sneak in and sink down into the Pit while he was working. ( The Pit is mostly just a couch, a recliner and a button chair that Ed had thrown in the store because it gave it a throwed back feel. Also, he had to have a place to put his favorite recliner when Bonnie moved all her shit in to his place.)

Happy to have an out, Zayn says, “Excuse me, ma’am, I have another custome,” and leaves. He doesn’t wait for her to reply, just walks away, tossing a look back to make sure she’s not like, frozen in place. He’s not being a pompous ass, because it has happened before. Girls freezing at the register until Harry has to physically escort them out the door. It’s not cocky if it’s true, alright?

Now, if Zayn had a type, he’s looking at it right now. Liam’s laying down on his back, his hands resting on his long torso and his head pillowed on the arm of the couch. The air conditioning vent that Zayn has faced this way blows the smallest of quiffs on the top of his head. Zayn may or may not have moved the vents for that exact reason. He really fucking liked Liam’s quiff, okay?

Liam’s shoes are removed and neatly sitting beside his backpack. His legs are crossed at the ankle and he’s smiling up at Zayn with that stupid grin and he has those stupid crinkly lines beside his eyes that make boys like Zayn fall in love with boys like Liam. He’s biting his lip because he knows he’d going to get shit for disrupting Zayn while he’s working, even if Zayn was begging for an interruption. Still, the way his lip is sucked into mouth, only a little, teasing Zayn without any real intention—that makes Zayn want to punch Liam and kiss him at the same time. These are very conflicting emotions.

Zayn doesn’t like the way Liam’s looking between him and the door, where what’s-her-name had just left. He keeps smiling, smirking like he thinks its funny Zayn gets hit on by everyone excluding Liam. So he plops down on him, cackling satisfactorily when Liam _oomph’s_ loudly and frowns up at Zayn. He sits up to accommodate Zayn’s weight in his lap, though. Mostly because Liam can’t resist a good cuddle and Zayn doesn’t have enough self-preservation to stop initiating them. It’s a problem they’re both actively not working on.

“Still as charming as ever, I see.” Liam’s back is to the armrest and Zayn is sitting sideways across his thighs. “I was about to call the paramedics, mate. She looked like she was ready to pass out when you called her babe.” Liam pokes him in his cheek and giggles when Zayn snaps his teeth at his finger playfully. “ _Come back any time,_ ” he mocks. He’s such a shit.

“I was being nice, Liam,” he says, glaring when Liam’s hands wrap around his waist and turn him to the side, effectively settling Zayn against his chest, with Liam’s face in his neck. Like Zayn wasn’t capable of moving his own limbs, and he apparently needed a reminder of Liam’s brute strength from his new swimming muscles.

 “I’m not a fucking rag doll. If you wanted me to move, you should have said something. What are you doing here anyway?”

This was them. The bickering and the touching and the small smiles into each other’s necks. Everything but the fucking. No sex, no relationship, no claim. Just friends. God, Zayn hated that phrase. It was patronizing as fuck. And it sucked. Being in the friend zone was honest-to-goodness bullshit. Whatever. He snuggled back farther, relaxing in his place for the time being. When Harry came in, or another customer, he would have to get up, so he was taking what he could get. That’s normally how Zayn worked.

“Potty-mouth,” Liam tsked, making Zayn huff when he started messing with his lips. “I came to drop off Louis and Harry.” Zayn groaned, because that meant Louis was going to be up Harry’s ass throughout the entire shift. “I thought I might stay a while, see how you were doing.”

“You saw me five minutes ago.” Zayn checks his watch, figuring up the time between now and when Zayn had walked with Liam to the parking lot at school. “Okay, twenty minutes. But still, we’ve got to work on your dependency issues, Li.” He laughs out loud when Liam jabs him in the stomach with his finger. “No, I’m serious,” he kids, “we’ve got to live separate lives—”

“Shut up,” he says, hooking his chin over Zayn’s shoulder and letting Zayn sink back into his chest.

And Zayn will admit he went willingly, because why not? He’d gotten used to Liam being the touchy-feely one a long time ago, right after he stopped having panic attacks on the playground because Liam really was a hugger, and a kisser too, and it freaked his younger self out.

Louis would say that Liam chilled Zayn out, made him less crazy and eccentric, and more comfortable in his own skin. Zayn would tell Louis to shut the fuck up.

“How long are you working today?” Liam asks at Zayn’s lobe. It says about a million things for his preservation instincts that he doesn’t showcase the chill that runs down his spine when Liam breathes into the shell of his ear. “I was going to go by and visit the girls if you were closing up with Harry.”

Another twist to Zayn’s gut is how much Liam genuinely loves his sisters, and how much they love him in return. Safaa, who’s still young, and can still light up Zayn’s world with a grin—she thinks Liam is just the greatest. When Zayn started picking up night shifts at the store for money, Liam refused to let Zayn’s littlest sister go to bed without a bed time story or a thorough check for monsters under the bed. Waliyha, who was growing up too fast for Zayn’s liking, had a crush on Liam that could rival his own. Liam would sit in her desk chair and listen to her gossip about all of her friends and talk shit about Zayn when she didn’t think Liam would tell on her. But he did, because no matter how many times Liam threatens to beat up Roy Atkins for Waliy, he still loves Zayn more.

Though, it is always nice to know other members of his family are in love with Liam, not just him.

“Go ahead and go by there, but my mom is off work. If you’re busy, I’m sure she can tell Safaa a story or something. You don’t have to go by there every night,” Zayn says, pretending it doesn’t mean that much to him, that Liam going out of his way to do something for him and his family doesn’t light a fire in his chest. “You’re spoiling them, Liam.”

“They’re my babies too, Zayn.”

Knife meet chest.

Zayn rolls his eyes as Harry and Louis make their way into the store, yelling out Zayn’s name. Louis doesn’t stop; even when Zayn’s sure he spots him in the corner. Liam breathes a laugh into Zayn’s neck and he forgets for a second that he hates when Louis comes in on Harry’s shift.

Harry goes behind the counter, and instead of showing up in his work shirt like Zayn had, he yanks it from his backpack and tugs it on over his Rolling Stones tee. Zayn can’t believe that Ed was mad enough to hire both of them, they were kind of slobs at work, but they had damn good music taste. Where Zayn’s music was a little more R&B and a mix of cultured pop, Harry matched it with a taste for Indie tunes and a soft spot for classic rock. It worked. They worked.

And Zayn loved the store like it was his own.

Louis’ clothes are loud enough to precede him, his dark black trousers making a bold statement with the turquoise floral pattern of his button-up. And his fringe was intact, as were his signature TOMS, even though Zayn was certain he had to know they didn’t coordinate with that outfit. The only reason he can pull it off is because he’s Louis, and people expect crazy from him.

Zayn’s surprised to see Niall and Eleanor walking through the door behind them. El winces at the bell, just as Zayn always does. They were the only two with enough sanity to see it was crazy as fuck to have a cowbell on the door.

“You guys do realize this is a place of business, right? Not a local hangout?” Zayn gets up, swatting Liam’s hands away and walking to the counter. He passes Niall on the way and he gives him a fist bump but turns it into a hug, because it’s Niall, and you can’t just not hug Niall.

Zayn kisses El’s forehead and lets her walk back behind the counter with him. Eleanor’s the only one he can stand after school. All she does is sit around with Zayn and bitch about boys and how gross cafeteria food is. He turns to the rest of his friends. “Go to your own houses. Don’t you all get enough of each other at school? I know I get enough of you. Go the fuck home. Me and Harry have shit to do.”

Louis raises a brow from the other side of the register. He’s mad that Eleanor is the only person Zayn will let past the sign that reads: _Employees Only._ Because unlike Louis, El didn’t have a knack for misplacing things on purpose, just to see how long it would take Zayn to find the keys to the store.

“Like what,” he asks, spanning his hands across the top of the cabinet, sticking his tongue out when Zayn glares at him to cut it out. He was about to hoist himself up on the countertop. Only Zayn can do that. “You have like forty customers in six hours, what could we possibly do to stop you from selling trashy Katy Perry CDs to girls that only come in to look at your eyelashes and melt in front of the register when you smile at them?”

Niall bellows his defense of Katy Perry’s vocal abilities at the same time Zayn picks up the broom and sticks it in Harry’s hands. “For one, your boyfriend has to sweep the store, and I know for a fact he can’t do it while your ass is standing around here, distracting him.”

Louis regards Zayn with an air of arrogance and a smirk. “Don’t blame him, it’s a nice ass.”

“It is,” Harry agrees. “Lou’s bum is one of my favorite things, along with—”

Zayn holds up a hand and walks away, not wanting Harry’s honey-slow voice to recount all the nasty, sometimes cute, mostly disturbing things that he adores about Louis. “I will shave your head if you make me throw up my Skittles, mate. Serious shaving, skin-head style.” He walks to the back of the relatively small store to sorts CDs, trying to miss the way Liam’s smiling at him and making weird faces by filling his cheeks up with air and pulling at his ears. “Just sweep the front of the store and near the registers. At least make it look like we’re working when Ed comes in at six.”

“Why do you get to tell Harry what to do,” Louis asks behind him. “And why are you so grumpy? Did Liam not cuddle you enough? Do we need to leave so he can remove that stick from your—”

Zayn turns to glare and he sees Eleanor throw an old B2K CD at Louis’ head. “He’s the boss ‘cause Harry’s never on fucking time.” She goes back to eating her Skittle’s, actually, he’s pretty sure those are his, but her tossing shit at Louis’ head is enough to earn her some of his candy. “Maybe if you two would stop humping each other for like, five minutes, he’d clock in when he’s supposed to.” Louis flips her off and she returns the gesture with both hands. “Now, stop bitching. It’s bad for my complexion.”

“How are words coming out of my mouth bad for your complexion?”

“Negativity in the air is terrible on the pores.”

“You are a certain kind of special.”

Zayn sighs in relief when they seemed to have dropped the subject of him and Liam. He owes El a great big hug or a new pom-pom for inadvertently saving his ass just then. Liam was an unbroachable subject for Zayn, and Louis was an ass for shedding light on it, but that was just Louis. He said it was in the name of love and all that sappy crap he and Harry watched on LMN during date night, but Zayn called bullshit. Louis just liked to be a pain in Zayn’s side sometimes, but Zayn really wouldn’t have it any other way. He would get him back, definitely. Louis wouldn’t think he was so fucking cute when Zayn scheduled Harry to close all week next week.

“Babe, I’m gonna go pick something to eat from down the street,” Liam says before Zayn can fully turn around and officially start working. Liam’s up now, scratching his fingers in Niall’s hair as he walks out of The Pit and to the front of the store. “You want something? Anything in particular?”

Zayn wistfully abandons his stack of Nelly CDs and moves past the rows of records to meet Liam and hand him some cash. “Yeah,” he responds, ignoring the wink El sends him behind Liam’s back when Liam’s hand finds its way to the smaller part of Zayn’s back. Zayn can’t help if they subconsciously gravitate towards one another, shit. “Here,” he says, handing him a few bills. “Get me a burrito or something cheap, and pick Harry up a couple of those pre-wrapped burgers. You know he’ll be whining by five when Louis gets sick of standing around here and goes home for food and doesn’t come back.”

“Fuck you, that’s not what I do.”

“Fuck you, it is too.”

Liam laughs and Zayn hates that he’s kind of in love with that sound. He takes Zayn’s money, only to fold the damn things up and stick them back in Zayn’s pocket. His back pocket. No, Liam, it’s not a big deal to fondle my ass through my jeans. Why the hell would that be weird? That’s platonic. That shouldn’t make Zayn want to jump his bones. No.

“Keep your money, man, it’s on me.”

Zayn does not struggle to find words, he doesn’t. It just takes him a little longer to gather his thoughts, is all. “You don’t have to pay for my food, Liam. I do have a job. That’s what it’s for, to pay for shit.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he says, grinning in a genuinely sincere manner than makes Zayn want to kick himself in the face or jump off a bridge, he’s never entirely certain with this kid. “But I want to.” He leans forward quickly to peck a kiss at Zayn’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

He rubs his hand across Zayn’s back before he walks out the door and Zayn has to work hard to reprogram his brain. Yes, breathing is good. Staring longingly at your best mate as he waves at you and holding your breath until he drives away is not good. No, that’s not good at all. Especially when Louis Tomlinson is making kissing noises behind your back and his annoying little boyfriend is smirking at you slyly as he sweeps the floor.

“Shut up,” he says, turning and stalking to the back of the store. He flips Niall off when he catches him pretending to make-out with his hand. Or he may honestly be making out with his hand. Zayn wouldn’t put it past him. Eleanor just smiles at him, but she knows her place and she doesn’t look like she wants to lose the Skittle’s she’s devouring, so her mouth stays shut.

Zayn huffs and picks up another CD, weighing its worth and putting it in the shitty column, because Nelly’s rapping voice has always irritated him. “Everyone just shut the fuck up.”

“Even me,” Louis calls, and Zayn can’t see it, but he can hear the smugness in his voice, the prick.

“Especially you.”

**/////**

Zayn doesn’t have to slide a time card, he’s worked here longer than Harry has and Ed technically has him signed on as a manager. Still, sometimes he wishes he could have the satisfaction of swiping his card at the end of the day, signaling to his body that yes, it was okay to go home and rest. After shelving and stacking and leading customers into the pile of doom that he’d deemed Music That Should Have Never Been Recorded. If people wanted old records of Nickleback and the latest Jennifer Lopez CD, though, he couldn’t complain about it. They were paying for his car.

“Harry, hurry up, man,” Zayn waves him over to the front door. He’s ducked behind the counter, shucking his shirt and stuffing it back into his backpack and shoving his nametag into the box of junk they’d been collecting since Harry started working here. “I want to go home and sleep for hours. Even if I’m swimming up to my ass in homework.”

“I think its elbows, mate. I think it’s: swimming up to my elbows.” Harry ruffles his fingers through his hair and stumbles past Zayn and out of the door. There are times when Zayn can say he’s genuinely concerned for that boy’s ability to walk in a proper line, but then he thinks of the smile Louis has when Harry’s walking particularly crooked and his worry is replaced with a need to toss up his burrito.

“I don’t care what it is, I just know I’m drowning in homework but all I want to do is sleep for a fucking month.”

He twists his key in the lock behind Harry and walks beside him to Zayn’s car. It’s smaller than Liam’s truck or Niall’s rover, but its practical and Zayn isn’t a fucking giant, so he doesn’t need the extra leg room. He refused to accept money from his parents when he could work and buy things for himself. His car wasn’t brand new, but it wasn’t nearly as shitty as Harry’s and it hadn’t cost half as much as Liam’s. The back door on the driver’s side stuck a little, but it was nothing a few good yanks and high spirits couldn’t overlook.

Harry buckles his seatbelt and Zayn drives the short distance to their neighborhood. They grew up on the same street, along with Louis and Liam, so they'd been close since they were in diapers or something incredibly cliché along those lines. Even when Louis and Liam’s families started making more money, and they moved into different neighborhoods, he and Harry were happy to stay here. It wasn’t anything fancy, but their parents could afford it and it wasn’t shabby in the slightest.

When they were kids, and even now, Louis and Harry had always been their own unit, as well as Liam and Zayn. In some fucked up way, Zayn thinks Harry had been ass over face for Louis since he was a toddler. Harry and Liam were a year below Zayn and Louis, but that didn’t stop them from becoming friends. Liam was persistent as fuck, and Harry thought Louis was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Zayn’s never fully understood that reference, because he can’t see what’s so damn special about sliced bread, but if any dumb metaphor was going to reference to the relationship between Harry and Louis, that would be it.

They didn’t meet Niall until well on, in year ten, Zayn thinks. Zayn caught him behind the bleachers on the first day of school. Niall was eating nachos and scoping out the cheerleaders while Zayn puffed on a cigarette. Zayn had joked that if he wanted to take a peek that bad he should just join the team. Two weeks later he and Louis were sitting in the stands watching the open cheerleader tryouts, because Louis liked to point out people’s flaws, and because Zayn couldn’t find anything better to do. Niall came out, attempting to flip cartwheels and turn back flips.

He was shit at it, still is if Zayn’s honest, and they told him to come back next year when he had more practice. So Zayn taught him and Louis helped (read: Louis sat in Zayn’s backyard and ate all his crisps while Zayn busted his ass to teach some strange Irish kid how to do a standing back tuck). After that, Niall made the team when they desperately needed more males and he’s been hanging around ever since.

So Niall whipped Zayn's ass at FIFA and Zayn helped Niall work out all his new flips. 

That's where they met El. She's a cheerleader on the team, not the captain, much to her displeasure, but on the team just the same. Niall is her lifting partner. No one really noticed or remembers how she became a permanent fixture of their little group; she just kind of came around once and stayed. She had a habit of doing that; going wherever the flow would take her.

She was the most peculiar girl Zayn had ever met, but she was the greatest. When she wasn’t whining about Mitch Donovan, who Zayn can confirm as a douche bag, or questioning why she’s on the cheerleading squad when she hates a good 99% on the girls she has to constantly cohabitate with. El was the only friend that Zayn had, who was a girl. It took a headache’s worth of convincing to tell his sisters that no, Eleanor was not his girlfriend. Just a girl, who was his friend.

Harry only lives two houses down from Zayn and it won’t kill him to walk. After he swept the store, he only bothered with a handful of customers, otherwise glued to his phone and giggling when Louis sent him a cute or funny or stupid text. But Zayn thought a good chunk of the things Louis and Harry said to each other were stupid, so that might not have been entirely fair.

He plans on parking behind his mum’s car, but there’s a vehicle there. Liam’s pointlessly large pickup-truck is sitting in his driveway. Zayn smiles secretly to himself, turning his head slightly so Harry won’t see. Safaa and Waliyha will be thrilled that Liam stopped by before they went to bed. He loved that Liam loved his sisters so much. It was—

“Your face is going to break in half,” Harry says when Zayn parks the car. He glares at him and pushes him out when Harry opens the door. “Right in half, straight down the middle,” he laughs. “Or maybe straight is the wrong word.”

“ _I’m_ going to break _your_ face in half,” Zayn mumbles, stepping out of the car and grabbing his backpack from the backseat. “Go home before I fire you or something.”

Harry continues laughing and trudges down the sidewalk. He walks backwards, which just looks like a bad idea, but Zayn stays without comment. He raises a brow, asking Harry what he wants, hoping his face can be seen in the dim light radiating from his front porch.

“Party at my house this weekend? Mom’s going to visit Gemma at Uni and Louis’ buying the beer. I know you have to work on Friday night, but you won’t be too tired to swing by for a little bit, will you?”

“No, I should be fine. Louis and Liam have a swim meet that afternoon, too, so don’t let Lou stick you with all the setting up and shit.” If Zayn and Liam would let him get away with it, Louis would never clean up his own messes; parties, clothing, and everyday high jinks included. “Your boyfriend’s kind of a prick when it comes to clean-up duty.”

Harry huffs at him. “He’s not a prick, he’s _free-spirited_. He doesn’t like to be _held down_ that’s all.”

“Alright, mate.” Zayn starts walking to his front door, trying not to run inside like a love sick schoolgirl and fawn over Liam and his smile and laugh and perfect fucking face. “But if me and Niall have to pick up bottles and cups all day on Saturday, I’m g’na _hold him down_ and beat him. Or make him listen to Teenage Dream, whichever kills him faster.”

“Don’t threaten him with Katy Perry, Zayn. That’s cruel. You’re not a cruel person.” Harry’s laughing when he says it, feigning a cold shake at the image of Louis being tortured—actually that might not have been a cold shiver. Gross. “Go fuck. Or cuddle. Whatever it is you and Liam do together. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Zayn chooses to blissfully ignore his smart ass remark. “’Kay Harry, see ya.”

Zayn has to dig his keys out in order to unlock his front door. It wasn’t late by his standards, but he had to open in the morning. He fought back a yawn on his way to his room. Zayn didn’t see Liam in the living room and he would have been able to hear Safaa’s excited voice if he was still up reading to them. His mum is probably asleep already, and if his dad wasn’t out of town on business, he would have been in the living room, watching the last of whatever match was on television this late.

Zayn doesn’t figure Liam will stay too late if he’s already read to the girls, so he forgoes locking the door, knowing he’ll have to just undo and redo it when he lets Liam out. The stiff soles of Zayn’s boots catch on the carpeted floor, making his presence known when he steps into his room and finds Liam on his bed, stretched out for Zayn’s eyes to roam over, scrolling through his phone.

“Hard day at work, sweetheart?” Zayn raises his middle finger in the air at Liam’s comment and sits down on the bed to untie his shoes. Liam’s hand absently makes circles in the small of his back and he speaks. “The girls said to tell you goodnight and that they love you. And you’re the best brother in the world, they said to tell you that, too.”

“Maybe Safaa on the last part, but definitely not Waliyha. She’s been throwing fits at me all week long. I’m not getting any fucking best brother titles for a while.” Zayn stands up to turn out the light. Regardless if Liam is sleeping over, he’s going to bed. He’s got to be up at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow morning, and he needs all the rest he can get. You don’t get pretty like Zayn by staying up all fucking night writing papers on Chaucer. “What’d she really say?”

Liam looks damn good in Zayn’s bed, as he always has. And fuck if it doesn’t turn Zayn on to see the entire expanse of his body filling up his side of the bed. He had his own side, which had to say something. It had to _mean_ something. Well, it should have, but it didn’t. And it wouldn’t. Because Zayn was a coward and Liam was hopelessly clueless that Zayn wanted to open his mouth and kiss him within an inch of his life, only to bring him back and do it again. And again. And again. That wasn’t changing.

It never changed.

Zayn slips his pants off, not seeing how Liam’s eyes linger on what little he can see on the dark, or even when he wets his bottom lip with his tongue. When Zayn turns around, he walks briskly to the bed. His toes feel good and free in the plush thickness of the carpet. It’s good to be home, in the house where he grew up. Where he and Liam grew up. Now he just wants to crash. As exciting as it sounds to spend yet another night pondering the significance of sharing this very room with the boy in his bed, he was too exhausted.

He makes a dive under the covers and sidles up beside Liam awkwardly. With either of them on different sides of Zayn’s duvet, it’s hard to get comfortable. Zayn twists this way and that, but gets more tangled in layers of fabric than he was in the first place. He hates covers. And clothes. They should both just sleep naked.

Liam sighs like he’s annoyed at Zayn’s fidgeting. “Waliyha said she loves you and she wants her Alicia Keys CD back before she comes for the Drake record. Not the CD, the record. She told me to be very specific.”

“She’s a brat, I can’t believe she’s your favorite. You’re lucky Ruth and Nicola are older.” Zayn’s still struggling to get relaxed in Liam’s warmth. He’ll be damned if he has Liam in his bed and he doesn’t use this as a shameless opportunity for a cuddle. It happened all the time, Liam spending the night at Zayn’s house or vice versa, and Zayn was anything if not opportunistic. “And I don’t listen to Alicia Keys. Just that _one_ track, I swear.”

Zayn’s still moving when Liam grunts in irritation. “Babe, stay still—just, hold on.” He lifts his legs and then his butt, sliding the bottom half of his body under the bulk of the cover and moving closer to Zayn. Zayn lets himself be moved and arranged to fit into Liam’s arms, sighing contentedly when Liam turned him so Zayn’s back was to him and he slid in the space behind him. “Is that better?”

Fuck yes. “’S alright, I guess. I don’t know why I have to be the little spoon all the time. That’s emasculating. I’m a man too, Liam.”

“You love it,” he says, whispering into the back of Zayn’s neck, laughing when Zayn twitches at the tickle of breath down his spine. “Am I staying over tonight? I can go home if you want me to? I didn’t want to leave before I got to see you.” He noses at Zayn’s hairline, and Zayn leans farther back into it, reveling in the attention. “Plus, I had to give you a heads up about Waliyha, she sounded pretty serious.”

Zayn’s elbow catches Liam in the ribs and a breathy laugh escapes his throat. Liam’s hand grasps Zayn’s forearm when he moves to jab him again. Bastard. Zayn tries not to jump out of his skin when Liam’s fingers tickle the hairs covering his arm on their way down to his hand, where he threads their fingers together and makes Zayn dig his teeth into the skin of his lip to bite back a smile.  

“I was going to ask you if you could drive me to work on your way to practice in the morning anyway. I have to open at six and I know you get up early as fuck to get to the pool on time.” He lets Liam guide their hands down to Zayn’s stomach, and his muscles flutter under the touch. He forgets how wide Liam’s hands are, and his fingers. Liam has really nice fingers. Liam had a nice everything. “I don’t know how you guys get Louis to wake up that early, but power to you.”

“I can take you in and swing by my house before practice.” His lips play at the small hairs on Zayn’s neck. “No problem.”

One day Zayn is going to hyperventilate when Liam kisses his neck. One day he won’t be able to take it and on his grave Louis will write something really sarcastic and bitchy like: I Told You This Was Going To Happen, This Is Why You Should Listen To Me. Zayn has no idea if all of that could fit on a tombstone, but if anyone can make it happen, it would be Louis.

Gulping, he says, “Well if you’re staying with me,” nice choice of words, Zayn, “then you need to go lock the front door, so we don’t all get slaughtered in our sleep. I forgot to lock it when I came in.”

“Aw, are you scared, Z? That’s so— _oomph,_ keep your elbows to yourself, that’s not nice.”

“It’s not nice to be an asshole, either.” He untangles their hands, only mourning slightly at the loss, and tries to shove Liam out of his side of the bed, as best he can with his arm bent at a fucked up angle. “Go lock the door and come back to bed.”

Of course Liam doesn’t move. Not because Zayn is weak, but because Liam can bench press Harry, and Zayn wasn’t really trying that hard to push him away in the first place.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, laughing. He smacks a kiss at Zayn’s nape and Zayn can’t distinguish if that was a shot to his dick or his heart. Maybe both. Liam stops at the door, looking back and leaning into the doorframe and grinning that grin that made Zayn’s heart beat a little faster and his brain think a little slower.

Yeah, both. Without question.

**/////**

“I’ll be here around eight to pick you up for school.” Liam looked beside him to the controls on his door and unlocked the truck. “Is Ed cool with letting you off before your shift’s over? I know you’re not supposed to get off until eight fifteen, but I need to get back a little early.”

Zayn grabbed his school bag, thought about it and tossed it into the backseat. He’ll get it later, no big deal. Liam’s always on time, and he should have time to change out of this awful blue work shirt before his first class.

“He’s pretty chill about that stuff, mate. He knows I have school and shit.” Zayn opens the door and climbs out. He almost busts his ass because Liam has a huge fucking lift kit that only cooperates with people who have unnecessarily long legs. “Why do you have to be early, though? Class doesn’t start until almost nine. Are we standing around the parking lot with everyone? It’s too fucking cold to fuck around today. I’m waiting in the truck until class starts.”

“I have an extra jacket you can borrow.” Liam smiles at him and turns over the engine. “I’ll be back in a couple hours? Love you.”

Zayn doesn’t miss how Liam eyes him expectantly, waiting for him to close the door and go inside. He’s also receptive to Liam’s dismissal of his question, how he disregards Zayn entirely and bounces in his seat, eager to drive off to school.

Zayn’s barely able to mutter an, “I love you, too,” before Liam’s backing out and heading towards campus.

That shakes him a little, he’ll admit. Liam doesn’t usually keep secrets from Zayn. Big or little, Liam’s a shit liar, and he knows it. He’s too innocent to lie. Zayn can usually tell if he’s trying to spin one over on him. It’s probably nothing, he thinks. He hopes. Honestly, as obsessed as Liam is with water and smelling like a walking chemical plant, he’s most likely just ready to get to practice and dive into chlorine and a pool of boys in fucking speedos. He’s weird like that.

But that doesn’t explain why he wants to get back to school early after he picks Zayn up. Whatever, Zayn shrugs, he’s not going to worry about it. He has a two hour shift, mostly so he can score extra cash, but also because Ed’s a fucking bum and he doesn’t want to get up early and open the store. Liam will be fine, and if not, Zayn will deal with that later on in the day.

He fishes his keys out of his jeans and turns the key in the lock. Zayn opens the door and takes in the small expanse of the store. There’s distinct smell of old vinyl and the faint trace of plastic in the air, lingering from boxes of CDs that are sitting in a stack of boxes that Harry hasn’t shelved yet. Zayn’s nose catches a whiff of leather, emitting from the couch in the corner and the jackets he has stashed under counters and over chairs.

It smells like dust, too, but not in a bad way. In a way that gives it character, that says Zayn should wipe off the counters more often, and that Harry really needs to clean out the window framings. It’s a sensory overload to him, the way everything fits him and his character so well. The way Zayn knows where every record is placed and can rattle off the names of their regular customers like this was his own record store instead of Ed’s.

This was it. This was life to him. There was so much history in this shitty store. The rows of albums that people came in looking for, searching for something that would soothe their soul and make their troubles go away. There was a wall, a wall full of CDs new and old alike, that girls his sister’s age would push open the door and ask Zayn for.

Memories were contained in these walls. Memories of Liam tickling his sides and making him laugh during a boring shift, when he stopped by, just to see Zayn. Zayn was brought to the thought of Louis and Harry getting caught with their pants down, literally, whenever he looks at the lopsided display table between the registers and the door. There are even memories of Zayn rolling his eyes and locating an old Britney Spears album, before she went bat-shit crazy.

Crappy or not, music was music. And it was cheap here. Ed wasn’t the owner of a department store, most of these albums and records were donated. Very seldom did he order anything new, sans the more current shit that brought it the younger crowd. He didn’t put a price on happiness, which is what he and Zayn thought music was. Happiness. And sadness. And mourning. Music was meant to draw on one’s emotions.

And as Zayn made his way to the register he took in the stock of the store, peering into bins and fingering through the music that was less annoying than everything else. The Bob Marley record he swiped from Ed the first time they all smoked weed in The Pit. He found the Stones original vinyl, and he made a note to put it back for Harry if no one came looking for it this week, that kid was obsessed with old rock and roll. He even stumbled upon a beat up Glee CD when he was shuffling through the pile of donations and he would definitely be torturing Louis with sounds of Rachel Blueberry or whatever the fuck that weird girl’s name was.

Yeah, being at work this early wasn’t so bad when he got to do this, just be. Zayn stood behind the register, leaning his elbows on the countertop and breathing in the musk of memories within the tiny walls of the shop. The sun looked fucking awesome, blanketing everything in a golden light that sort of hurt Zayn’s eyes, but it was worth it. It showcased the beauty that Zayn truly saw in the store. The magic of the music.

For a while, the next two hours or so, Zayn didn’t have any problems. His mind wasn’t racing with thoughts of where he was going to go for Uni. Zayn wasn’t concerned with what the girls would be doing after school. He wasn’t going insane as a result of falling in love with his best friend of thirteen years. Zayn wasn’t worried about whatever the hell Liam was keeping from him in the car. Zayn was just, Zayn. It was just him and the music.

For now.

**/////**

Ed’s a nice enough guy, to Zayn at least. Harry should be glad he even considered him for employment with his knack for knocking shit over and paying absolutely no attention to customers when Louis was in the store. Which was all the fucking time. His bright orange hair amuses Zayn on a bad day and his girl Bonnie is a great source of entertainment when Harry is flirty and Zayn is stoned.

Not that he comes in to work stoned, no that would be against the rules. Ah, fuck it, Ed lights up in The Pit when the store is empty. Hell, he’s offered Zayn weed before. It’s a _record store_ , it’d be like breaking a law of humanity for them not to get a little baked. Clichés and all that.

The store is quiet. Zayn hasn’t rung up a single sale, and he knows Ed won’t either until school lets out, or they get a couple tourists who are looking around at the culture of the town. Zayn’s just glad Ed clocks in before he can encounter the rush of hipsters that come in and browse the store in their knitted beanies and ugly fucking scarves around mid-morning, before they hit up Starbucks and the local thrift shops.

Ed stumbles in the front door around seven-fifty. He’s drunk and he smells like a long night. Zayn winces when Ed’s knee comes in contact with the corner of the coffee table as he crashes onto the couch. “ _Shit,_ ” he yells, yelping and licking his wounds with a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Who put that damn table there? A table in a record store, that’s a bright fucking idea.”

“That was you, mate.” Zayn laughs on his way to the back and comes out with a cup of coffee, walking across the store to exchange Ed’s beer for a strong brew he put on just over twenty minutes ago. “You’re wasted, Eddy. You gotta stop drinking this early in the morning. You know Bonnie checks the tapes.”

Ed waves his hand in dismissal, making grabby hands for his pint but accepting the coffee when Zayn pushes it into hand. “Fuck Bonnie,” he says. “She kicked me out and I had to sleep at the pub. It’s my damn house! I barely made it over to Tom and Lou’s so I could shower.” He lifts his shirt to his nose, inhaling deeply and peering questionably at Zayn. “I don’t stink, do I? Would you tell me if I stink?”

Zayn shakes his head and takes Ed’s bottleneck to the small fridge to the right of the couch. He slides it inside and shuts the door. “You smell like a keg, but that’s not anything new. Bonnie better get over that shit by tonight, because Tom won’t let you shower there again with the babies, and your ass isn’t sleeping on my couch.” He pats Ed on the back and stalks back over to the register. “Mum said no fucking way after you spilled wine all over the carpet. I suggest you suck up or say sorry for whatever you did.”

“What makes you think it’s my fault, you shit?”

“’Cause it’s always your fault.”

Ed smiles around his cup of coffee. “True.”

“Hey, can I get off a little early this morning?” Zayn taps his fingers on the counter, fidgeting and feeling the effects of the caffeine in his system. This was why he considered himself a tea guy; it had a much more calming effect. “Liam’s got some stuff to do and he’s picking me up. I didn’t feel like driving this early and you know how he is with practice. So how about it? Can I go ahead and clock out?”

“You still walking around like you don’t want to fuck him—”

“Shut up.”

“I’m your boss,” Ed yells, smile on his face. He’s such a dick sometimes. If Zayn didn’t love this store as much as he did, he would have quit a long, long time ago. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Yes or no, you drunk. He should be here in a minute and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

Zayn answers with his middle finger in the air on his way to the back room to rinse out his cup. Screw Ed and his dumb ginger hair and amused laughter. Zayn’s leaving at eight, regardless. Ed’s lucky if he doesn’t quit. He should quit. He should quit his friends too. If one can actually quit another person. He’ll find a way. If Louis didn’t come with a quit button, he wasn’t sure this was a world he wanted to live in.

“Zayn, your boyfriend’s here! Make sure you look your best before you come out. _Ooh,_ he’s opening the car door, what a _gentleman._ ”

Yeah, he’s fucking quitting.

**/////**

Liam’s on time, as he usually is. Always one to count on, that Liam. Zayn hops in the truck and Liam closes his door. Ed wasn’t kidding when he said Liam had been a gentleman and let Zayn in the truck. He would get shit for that later, when Ed undoubtedly ran his mouth to Harry, who would blab to Louis in between confessions of devotion and gratuitous fucking. Ah, young love.

“How was work?” Liam’s eyes were on the road, only glancing in Zayn’s direction when he had a free lane. Liam hit the break when they got to a light and picked up his phone from his lap, smiling and shooting off a text message.

“It was good. Shit hours, but—”

“—but you like having the store to yourself,” Liam finishes, gunning it when Zayn flicks his ear to signal a green light. “You do that weird thing where you smell all the records and go through the music.”

“It’s not weird,” he mumbles defensively. Because his life sucks in general, of course Liam would know about Zayn’s _unique_ ritual when he had to go in a bit earlier than everyone else. Liam smiled at him for a minute, but when they got to the next light, his cell vibrated and he was thumbing out a reply. “And who the fuck are you talking to, Liam? You’re the one that’s being weird.”

Liam’s a bit to hasty in his reply. “It’s no one important, just—just an old friend that’s coming back into town. D-don’t worry about it.”

Zayn said it several times, to Liam’s face even, that he is a terrible liar. It used to always get them in trouble when they were kids and they were trying to hide a family of dogs under their bed. And it was really fucking annoying when they were a bit younger, going to parties with Louis and Harry, and Liam couldn’t keep a straight face when his mum asked them what they did the night before. Now it just pissed Zayn off.

Liam can lie to anyone he wants to, just not to Zayn. It’s pretty hypocritical with Zayn harboring the biggest secret of their friendship. That was different. He didn’t know how, he just knew that it was.

“If you don’t want share, just tell me to fuck off. Don’t lie to me. You know I hate that shit.” Zayn crosses his arms and slumps in his seat. He’s being a prick, because he knows the second he pushes his lip out a little farther than normal and frowns a little deeper, that Liam will cave. See, because Liam might know Zayn, but Zayn knows him just as well in return. “But whatever, do what you want.”

They pull into the school parking lot and Liam quirks his head, looking over at Zayn and trying to meet his eye. Zayn can see him in the shiny reflection of Liam’s windows. He’s not looking into Liam’s big, brown eyes and letting his annoyance dissipate that easy. Zayn’s a hardass, alright? He’s stronger that some sappy apology eyes and a sad frown.

“Babe—”

Zayn stops him with a hand in the air, trying the handle on the door when he sees El run over. But Liam’s a dick, or maybe just a really good person and he won’t let Zayn out of the truck until he’s sure Zayn isn’t mad at him. Zayn knows this because the door won’t unlock and Liam’s pulled this shit before.

“Open the door, mate. I need to get out so you can text your old best friend and shit.” He tries the handle once more with no avail. Eleanor’s at the window now, hair in a bun and scarf around her neck. He can see his cup of caffeine in her hand and she reaches up as far as she can get and knocks on the window. “El’s waiting, can you let me out?”

Zayn hears Liam unbuckle his seatbelt. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Liam scoot closer and slide up the center console so he can move closer to Zayn in the cab. Zayn turns his back to him, because it hurts. He’s over reacting and he knows that. But he forgets sometimes how much he has invested in Liam and it hurts to be reminded that he can text other people, other people he may or may not be interested in. Other people that make him smile. He’s not mad at Liam, he’s just mad at the situation.

It sucks.

“Look at me,” he says. Liam’s hand comes up to cup his chin, but Zayn moves away. Liam’s quick, though and he catches Zayn’s face between his hands and makes him look over at him. “Zayn, quit being a shit about this. It’s not nearly as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. Zayn—look at me, dammit.”

Zayn does, look at him, that is. Liam doesn’t really give him much of a choice with his soft voice and strong hands. Liam looks at him directly, not breaking eye contact once Zayn chances a look up and gets lost in the apologetic form of Liam’s features, when he has nothing to be sorry for. Zayn and his stupid jealous streak.

“I’m not being a shit,” he huffs, irritated that he can feel his frustration slipping away. Liam raises his brow in speculation, regarding Zayn with a stern eye. Zayn sighs in relent, “Maybe I am, but only a little.”

Liam rests his forehead against Zayn’s and Zayn hopes that he can’t hear his heart race fast enough to beat out of his goddamn chest. “Only a hell of a lot.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

They both laugh, and Zayn chooses to ignore Eleanor’s persistent knocking. She can wait, he knows she wasn’t the one who splurged for the coffee anyhow. He has a plethora of text messages from Louis bitching about repayment, that will result in Zayn letting Harry off on the days Louis doesn’t have practice.

“Are we okay,” Liam asks. “Are you done pouting?”

Zayn shoves Liam off abruptly and rolls his eyes at his laughter. He leans over him to unlock the doors, trying not to hyperventilate at the idea of him on top of Liam. “Fuck you, I wasn’t _pouting._ ”

Zayn lets Liam keep being an asshole and he waves his hand at El for her to move back. She does and he reaches in the backseat to remove his backpack. He swats at Liam’s hands when he tries to grab at him and haul him back inside. But Zayn’s already on his way out and Liam’s legs get caught under his ginormous excuse for a steering wheel. Serves him right.

Liam gets out and heads in the opposite direction of Zayn and El. He waves and mockingly blows Zayn a kiss. Zayn makes a show of turning his head away and Liam feigns a broken heart. Shit, he was way too in over his head for Liam. It’s a fucking bummer that he has to go through this realization process every day. Eventually Liam disappears behind the gym and Zayn can go on about the beginning of his school day.

He walks beside Eleanor and she hands him a tall cup. The steam coming out of the lid of his cup appeals to his senses, clearing up his foggy head with a single whiff. “How much do I owe Lou for this?”

She loops her arm through his, nearly spilling shit down the front of his shirt. He almost yells at her to cut it out, but El’s always clingy so he should have been expecting it. He rights himself and they continue walking to the front entrance of their school. Zayn curses Liam for always parking near the activities building.

“It’s on the house,” she says, more chipper than he’s accustomed to this early in the morning. It’s weird to see her walking around as anything other than a zombie before noon. “I paid for it. It’s a freebie.”

“A freebie, huh?” Eleanor never paid for anything. Not if she didn’t have to. She didn’t have a job or a car and all her money came from her dad, who only sprung for cheerleading. She was lucky to get cash for food money, so her paying for his morning coffee was out of character. “What’d you do? Ed came in drunk and I already had to deal with Liam’s shit this morning, so just spit it out.”

She starts to lie; Zayn can see it in the crinkle of her brow. She decides against it and stops them in the middle of the lot.

“If I tell you, you can’t get mad.” She says the words carefully, as if she’s debating telling Zayn anything at all. He’s not one for gossip, he leaves that to Louis and Harry, and El if she’s so inclined. “I’m not gonna warn you if you’re going to be all pissy with me.”

“I don’t get _pissy._ ”

“Bullshit, your face was made to brood.” Eleanor pokes the side of his face. “You’re brooding right now. Look at those cheekbones. You were born to be pissy.”

“Get to the point.”

“She’s back,” she states with no further explanation. Her face is serious and Zayn would laugh if Eleanor’s serious face wasn’t such a rarity. “She’s back for good, I think. I wanted to tell you before you saw her for yourself and flipped your shit. Liam was talking to her before he left to go pick you up. I was here with Niall for practice and—”

“El, who the hell are you talking about? Who’s back? Who was talking to Liam?” He brings his cup up to his mouth taking a sip and waiting for her to answer. He tries to rack his brain, come up with someone who would fit the description, who would fill in those blanks. Zayn doesn’t know, and he’s not sure he cares. Although he got into a tiff with Liam over it, and this could possibly be the old friend, it was a small argument, and Liam told him not to worry about it. So he wouldn’t. “I have no clue who you’re talking about.”

“Are you that dumb? Do I have to spell it out for you?” Zayn narrows his eyes when his intelligence is called into question, and El holds her hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. Put it together. Me and Ni at cheer practice. An ex cheerleader? You getting pissed about someone hanging out with Liam?”

“If you’re fucking with me, Eleanor…”

She shakes her head and Zayn’s heart drops to the pit of his fucking stomach.

“I’m not, babe. It’s Danielle. She’s back.”

“It’s no one important,” he scoffs, replaying what Liam had said to him earlier. “That lying son of a _bitch._ ”

Zayn took off in the direction Liam had gone, leaving Eleanor to follow in his wake, shuffling behind him as he stalked across the lot. He heard her bitching, but all he could focus on was getting to Liam and wringing his neck, and maybe Danielle’s. It would be just like her to swoop right in and let Liam get tangled in the lies and traces of deceit that followed her around.

Not again. Not this time. Not with Liam.

“Dammit, Zayn! Louis is going to kill me for telling you. You weren’t supposed to get mad!”

“Louis knew?”

“I’m just gonna shut up now.”

“You do that.”


	2. i mean nothing to you and i don't know why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeek, sorry for the wait! rl sucks and it makes things crazy and anyway here's your updates, you lovely people. this is sort of a filler chapter, i guess you could say? but if it makes you feel better, i had to cut Ch 2 in half, so that means I'm well into Ch 3, and it should be here fairly soon. 
> 
> Anyway, read on, and I hope you like it? Zayn's brotps will be shown in this. He's really close to everyone, and a big plot point will be revealed. :D 
> 
> Read on!

“Zayn, you can’t hit a girl. Let me get you some mace.”

Zayn doesn’t even stop to acknowledge that remark. He may roll his eyes in annoyance, but he does it where Eleanor can’t see. He’s pissed enough without adding a slap to the back of the head on top of everything, which is what Eleanor will definitely grace him with if she the way he chooses to express his irritaion.

“I’m not going to fucking hit her,” he says, steadily walking towards the gym where he saw Liam disappear earlier. “You’re the girl, you should hit her. Someone should hit her. Or maim her. It’s got to be annoying having that much hair.”

He slings his backpack farther up on his shoulder when he feels it slipping. It wouldn’t be so heavy if he didn’t have to haul around his and Louis’ homework for English. Fucking literature books.

“Well then what are you doing? Do you have a plan or are you just going to yell at him?” Eleanor takes his fast paced walking in stride, keeping up step for step and finding time to take sips out of the tall cup of caffeine warming her hands. “You know Liam doesn’t respond well to yelling, and I don’t like it when mom and dad fight.”

She thinks she’s so goddamn funny.

“I’m just going to ask him why he lied to me about it being no big deal, when her showing up when he’s doing so well is obviously going to be a big fucking deal,” he snarks, walking harshly across the pavement. “Mom and dad aren’t fighting,” he assures her. “And when you say shit like that, it makes me question why I’m friends with you.”

“You’re friends with me because no one can match your creepy cynicism like I can.”

She has a point.

Zayn reaches to yank open the doors to the gymnasium, but El’s bony fingers bite into his arm at the last second and drag him away. At times, when Zayn’s pitting Eleanor against a particular whiny girl at a party who won’t get off Zayn’s case, he’s glad for her inhumanly possible strength. This is not one of those times.

“The fuck are you doing,” he demands, trying to shove her off as she pulls him around to the back of the gym, and sits him down on top of a stack of metal crates. “I need to go in there to see what the hell Liam’s thinking—”

“No you don’t and you aren’t,” she says, like it’s so simple and Zayn doesn’t have any other choice. He could easily move past her, and he should, but its El, and if anyone has a worse temper than Zayn does, it’s her. He’s never been on the receiving end of one of her right hooks, and he’s not about to fucking start now.

Eleanor tosses their cups somewhere behind her, and Zayn’s sort of said, because that was the only free cup of anything he’ll probably ever get from Eleanor, and he didn’t even get to drink half of it. She goes behind him to slip his bag from his shoulders and digs in it like she owns the damn thing.

“Open up,” she says, tugging on his chin and inserting a cigarette on the tip of his mouth and then snapping his lips shut around the filter. “You’re going to sit here and smoke this cigarette like a good little bad boy and I’m going to get Liam.” Zayn doesn’t care is she hits him now, that deserved an eye-roll. “He’s going to come out here and you’re both going to talk about whatever it is that has both your heads up your asses. _And then_ _maybe kiss passionately_ —”

Zayn glares at her.

She holds her palms up in surrender. “Okay, maybe not the last thing, but I’m keeping hope alive here, Zayn.” El flicks the lighter she found in his bag and brings the flame to the end of his cigarette. She also punches him when he doesn’t inhale and light it immediately, but he should have seen that coming. “And you can’t be a dick to him, because he was only hiding that shit ‘cause he knew you would flip when you found out. _Which you did._ ”

“I didn’t flip out.”

“Because I stopped sat you down and shoved a cigarette in your mouth.”

Zayn brings his hand up to his face, taking a drag and moving the burning stick of tobacco to a vantage point that didn’t blow smoke in his eyes. “Just go get him,” he says, muttering, “Fucking bossy,” underneath his breath.

She rips the cigarette from his fingers and breathes in deeply. “You try hanging out with Louis and not coming out a little pushy,” she says, smoke billowing out from her mouth. Eleanor pats his head and smacks a kiss to his cheek, then hands him back his cigarette. Her long legs carry her away from Zayn and towards the front of the building. “I’m sending Li your way and then going to find Harry for first period. See you at lunch, loser.”

She’s around the corner before he can reply.

Despite her nagging nature, El putting a cigarette in Zayn’s mouth was probably the smartest idea she’s had the entire semester. He hasn’t lit up in a couple of days, mostly because Liam could smell it on Zayn’s clothes and he always bitched at him when they fell asleep together. But fuck, did it feel good to get that nicotine rush—feel the smoke settling in the back of his throat before he blew it out in murky clouds that made him think of cold weather and rain.

He fishes his iPod out of his bag and sticks a pair of headphones in his ear, dropping his bag to the ground afterwards. Zayn’s fingers were too cold to sort and scroll to a specific playlist or artist, so he tapped the shuffle option and was pleased when the raspy tones of Mary J. Blige’s _I’m Going Down_ filled his senses.

He could feel the passion and yearning, a true statement and declaration when the words were sung: _I’m going down / cause you ain’t around / my whole world’s upside down /._ And it wasn’t that the phrase was relatable, sans for the: _I’m going down_ part, because Liam wasn’t going anywhere, he would always be around. He was the constant in Zayn’s life.

It was the admittance that got to him.

The raw emotion of lyrics, not only in the song that was currently blasting through his brain, but in all songs in general—it amazed him. Zayn never understood how people could lay themselves bare like that. He sure as fuck couldn’t do it; current events were a glaringly obvious testament to that. He would always offset the nakedness of an emotional statement with the coverings-up of a crude gesture or quick-tongued remark.

Maybe Zayn should just make Liam a CD and tell him: _Here, I want to be with you, I’ve loved you all my goddamn life and all I want from you is that love in return._ No, that was too sappy. Zayn would probably fare better if he gave Liam a disc of songs he wanted to fuck to.

That would go over smoothly, he thinks. Or not.

Zayn doesn’t get far into his planning to win over Liam’s heart, because he rounds the corner then, slow and skittish like he thinks Zayn is going to do something crazy like punch him in the mouth or give him a good kick to the shin. He should, because Liam is a lying liar who lies, but he won’t. Because he’s weak as fuck where Liam is concerned and he’s a sucker for a wilted smile and a pair of chocolate brown eyes that beg for forgiveness that Zayn will always be willing to give.

Liam’s dragging his feet and last time Zayn checked, class was set to start any minute, but Liam seemed content in taking his time, so what the fuck ever.

He turned his music off, but didn’t take out his headphones. Zayn doesn’t give Liam the satisfaction of an acknowledging glance when he gets closer, even though he really fucking wants to. He just diminishes the ember on the end of his cigarette and pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his feet on the crate underneath him.

Liam stands beside him with his hands in his pockets. He bumps his hip into Zayn and asks, “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you right now?”

“I’m right about at a _fuck you,_ so what does that rank?”

Zayn’s eyes are trained at the ground, but he still sees Liam shrug, and he can feel it with him standing so damn close. “That’s about a seven” he says. “It honestly could be worse. You always were a bit moody, so don’t be offended if I protect my shins with my life.”

Fuck Liam and his ability to always make Zayn smile. He answers with a one finger salute, but Liam takes that as an invitation to grab his hand and pull him up in a standing position; the reason being so Liam can sit in his spot and tug Zayn down onto his thighs. Zayn follows blindly, mostly because he’s a bitch and it’s really cold, and also ‘cause he’s not dumb enough to pass up on a chance to be cuddled.

Anyone who calls him a pussy for that has obviously never been held in Liam’s arms when it’s several degrees below freezing.

Liam adjusts them again, he’s extremely anal about Zayn’s placement on his lap, but as long as Zayn doesn’t have to do anything crazy like get up, he can’t say he cares. Liam leans forward to rest his head on Zayn’s shoulder, and when Zayn tilts his head back to get a good look at Liam’s face, he can see him grimacing at the smell of smoke still lingering on Zayn’s skin.

They sit like that for a while, Liam tracing patterns up and down Zayn’s arm and Zayn trying not to jump out of his skin. Zayn stays quiet long enough for the first bell to ring and they both listen as students file in and out of buildings, trying to make it to their first class on time. He curses the high-pitched voices of girls and low rumblings of the guys running around the campus as they encroach on his peaceful time with Liam. Eventually the noise dies down and the tardy bell rings, but neither of them make any movements as if they’re considering getting up and going.

When a cold chill runs down Zayn’s spine, Liam pulls him closer and it makes Zayn wonder _why_ this is all they are. Why they’re just friends who kiss and cuddle and hold hands. It’s idiotic if you ask him. This could be nice for Zayn; being with Liam without worrying about the running of want tingling down his skin every time Liam touches his hand or curls their fingers together, making him question his fear of telling Liam he’s in love with his stupid face and dumbly beautiful smile. The both of them have the intimacy, they have the connection and the history and the memories, but there’s a line that Zayn’s not willing to risk crossing and it makes him want to hit something.

Zayn doesn’t jump when Liam finally speaks, his voice is calming and serene on the worst of days and Zayn even leans into him more when he feels it wash over him; breath on his neck and voice in his ear. “Danielle’s family moved back to town a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know the whole story and I don’t know if she’s back for good. She texted me this morning so we could meet up and talk things out before we saw each other in the hallways. She just didn’t want it to be awkward.”

He wants to scream at Liam that he can’t possibly be that stupid. He wants to tuck Liam’s body into his—even though the fucker had gotten taller lately and it drove Zayn to the brink of insanity—and he wanted to hide im from all the bad things in the world, like Danielle and growing up and getting heartbroken and the horrible beats of dubstep that he’d grown fond of. But all of those were things that Liam had to deal with in his own way, as much as Zayn hated to admit. Although, if he comes in Zayn’s store one more time, looking for another goddamn Skrillex CD, he’s taking matters into his own hands.  

In the end, Zayn doesn’t say anything, only out of loss of anything nice to respond with. But Liam takes his silence as aggravation and he nuzzles him, which he only does when he does something especially horrible and he’s looking for forgiveness. Like a fucking dog, or something.

It only annoys Zayn because it sort of turns him on, and these pants aren’t forgiving enough to hide a boner in.

“I know you’re worried about me, but I’m a big boy, babe. I’m not the naïve kid that fell in love with her and let her break my heart. I promise you I’ll be careful, okay?” Liam’s lips press softly into the skin on Zayn’s neck. “I promise.”

His fingers run up the back of Zayn’s hand, and he swears in that moment that Liam _has_ to know what it does to him. He has to know that the reaction he’s going to get out of Zayn is going to be out of pure want or affection or something else romantic and deep and annoying. But he smiles into the back of Zayn’s throat as something funny crosses his mind, and that thought is left for another day that Zayn is feeling particularly delusional and hopeful.

“And she already knows that if she screws me over, there’s a whole list of people who will be ticked off at her. Louis already gave her the side eye and Niall and Harry looked at her _very_ disapprovingly.”

Zayn’s sure Louis gave her a very intimidating once over with his glaring little eyes, and he’ll reward him for that later, but he knows for a fact Harry doesn’t have the stones to be openly rude and neither does Niall. But it helps picturing it, because imagining Harry straining his eyes to glower at someone is really fucking hilarious.

“You don’t even want to know what El will do if she fucks with you, mate.” Zayn breaks his own silence and something happy bursts inside him when Liam laughs into his skin. “That broad’s crazy, so Danni better watch out. She nearly tore my arm off, trying to stop me from going inside to yell at you.”

Liam frowns and slips his hand under Zayn’s shirt to pinch him. “Were you really gonna yell at me?”

“Damn right I was going to yell at you, Payne.” He swats at Liam’s fingers until they’re lying flat on his stomach. He kind of wants to punch him then. Really, what the fuck, Liam? “You lied to my face.”

He guffaws. “I did not.”

Zayn twists to look at him, and his features rise in questioning. And no, Zayn does not get turned on by Liam catching him by the hips when he almost slips off due to his squirming. He doesn’t.

Liam still doesn’t relent when Zayn’s looking at him, quirking his head to call Liam on his bullshit, because he _did_ lie. An omission of the truth is still a fucking lie. Liam knows that. So Zayn’s fist rises and he lands a solid punch to the top of Liam’s arm.

Zayn got his kick for violence from Louis, unsurprisingly.

“Shit! Okay, _okay,_ I lied.” Liam brought his hand diagonally across Zayn’s throat to rub at the tender spot on his arm, and to pin Zayn back to bite a retaliation mark into his ear. Zayn tried to twist to get him back, _because that hurt like a bitch_ , but Liam shook his head. “No, that was payback. You punch hard, babe.”

“You deserved it, lying little fu—”

Liam flicked at his nose. “Watch the name-calling, I have feelings too, you know.” Liam looked at his wrist, seeing as he was the only person Zayn knew who actually had a watch and wore it regularly. “Let’s agree to no lies from here on out, so we can get to class, yeah?”

“I’m not the one who lied.”

Liam sighs, and Zayn figures he’s being kind of a dick, so he cuts him some slack. “But alright, whatever.” He springs forward out of Liam’s lap and picks his discarded bag up from the ground to dust it off before slinging it across his back. “I’ll agree to your terms if you let me sleep off first period in your truck, I’m dead on my feet this morning.”

Liam smiles at him and tosses him the keys. “I picked up a blanket when I went home to get a change of clothes. I knew you’d be tired ‘cause you’re shit at getting up early. It’s under the seat.”

That shit, that right there is what Zayn hates. The thoughtfulness and consideration that Liam put into this—whatever this was. He didn’t have to grab a blanket for Zayn. He didn’t have to know that Zayn would be exhausted and first period was his least favorite class because Mrs. Fletcher was a pain in his ass, and she didn’t teach him anything that he didn’t already know. Liam didn’t have to know about every goddamn detail of Zayn’s life but he did and it was so sweet that he should start checking for cavities soon. It was getting ridiculous.

“I love you,” he says, or blurts, really. It just sort of comes out. But he doesn’t take it back, he means it. He loves Liam and that’s something that he thinks will always ring true. “I really do love you, man.”

There’s that smile again, the one that makes Zayn go weak in the knees and scarce on the air in his lungs. And there are those arms, pulling and breathing him in, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, because to Liam it is. There’s that feeling; the one that stings of familiarity when Liam squeezes him tighter and anguish when he pulls away.

“I love you too, bud.”

He ghosts a kiss into Zayn’s forehead and books it back to the gym, most likely to gather his bag. But Zayn just waits there for a moment, waving Liam on when he turned to ask him playfully if he was going to stand there all day. Zayn digs out his iPod and presses play, immediately skipping to the next song on his walk back to the initial parking lot of the school.

Sorry, Mary J. Blige, he thinks. Zayn’s going to need something stronger and a hell of a lot more angsty to deal with the fact that all he’ll ever be to Liam is his fucking _bud._

He’s thinking Adele. Yeah, that sounds about right.

**/////**

Zayn figured he should probably go to class if he ever wanted to amount to something, he didn’t want to be a fucking bum his whole life. He popped his neck and it felt amazing after having it propped up awkwardly in Liam’s truck for about an hour. Zayn checked his phone; it was just in the middle of second period. He would swing by Mrs. Smith’s class later on in the day to grab the work he missed earlier this morning. She was kind of a twat anyway, so he didn’t really regret ditching her Government class; full of too-long lectures about shit Zayn could learn himself with a bottle of Scotch, a head full of conspiracy theories and an hour alone on Google.

He had Louis in his second class of the day, but he didn’t feel like strolling in and having to explain his tardiness, so he waited in the corridor by the classroom and threw an arm around Louis’ shoulders when he flooded out of the room with the rest of their classmates as soon as the bell rang.

“Nice of you to join us today, Malik,” he said, grinning and wrapping his arm around Zayn’s waist on their way to Trig, which they also had together. It sucked to be the eldest of their friends, solely because the only person Zayn had a class with besides Louis, was Harry, who was a year ahead in his math courses. “I have to be honest, I didn’t think you were gonna show. El told me what happened with Liam. I take it you two are good, since you obviously slept half of the day away in the cab of his truck.”

“Fuck you, it was a class and a half.” Zayn rubbed his lip and stopped with Louis at his locker. “Me and Li are cool, though. You could have shot me a text when you found out Danni was back, you prick. I know you knew. You know everything ‘cause you’re nosy as all hell.”

Louis traded his Government book for a Trigonometry and flipped him off. “I can’t help if I’m interested in my surroundings. And to be fair, I didn’t find out until I saw her in the hallway when Li and I got out of practice.” Louis smiled at him mischievously and tugged him through groups of people. “You should be proud of me, though, if looks could kill, she would have dropped dead when I got my eyes on her.”

Zayn laughed on their way into class. He waved at some girl who was trying to get his attention, and Louis’ eyes rolled when Mick tried to play coy with Zayn when he was asked to move out of his seat. Louis just kind of shoved him, but Mick should have seen it coming. It was Louis, for crying out loud.

Zayn pulled a spiral and a pencil from his bag, waiting for the rest of the class to fill in. “Yeah, I heard about your mean mugging. Good on you mate, but it’s not necessary. She’s back, so the fuck what?” He tapped his pencil on the side of his desk, looking over at Lou. “She’s old news and she knows it. I’m not worrying about her.”

Louis looked at him with disbelief. There was a good chance Eleanor had already ran her mouth about how Zayn had almost went the fuck off, but that had nothing to do with Danielle solely and everything to do with his concern for the _combination_ of Liam and Danielle. Forget about Louis and his judgmental looks.

Louis dropped it and looked at him with concern instead, which probably bugged Zayn even more, if he was honest. “You don’t think they’ll start screwing around again, do you?”

Zayn shrugged. “The hell you asking me for? I’m not Liam and I’m not a mind reader, so who knows?”

“You know him better than any of us,” he explains, kicking out at Zayn and his smart-mouthed reply. “I figure if anyone’s going to know what’s going on in that boy’s head, it would be you.”

Zayn didn’t comment and say that Louis spent more time with Liam than he did, with their equal love for swimming and driving Harry and Zayn crazy at work. They were always together because Zayn and Harry had to work their asses of for a little extra cash, leaving them alone to swim and play Xbox with Niall and annoy the hell out of Eleanor. But Zayn got the point, he did know Liam best. He didn’t think he would get involved with Danielle again, and if he did, Zayn hoped it didn’t turn out near as bad as the last time. He didn’t have the time or desire to console a heartbroken Liam among the million other things he had to worry about this semester.

“For my sake,” he answers, “I sincerely hope they’re done with each other.”

Zayn itched to slug Louis in the face when he smirked at Zayn, as his pretension showing. “Because you’re hopelessly in love with him, and her showing up is going to put a chink in you longstanding plan to eventually win over his heart?”

“No, you asshat,” he says, blatantly giving Louis the finger as their teacher started calling class into session. “Because I’ll probably end up killing them both, and my jaw structure is too fucking awesome to be wasted behind a prison bars.”

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll bring you all the hair products you want if you end up in the joint. Plus, you don’t have to worry about dropping the soap; it’s twenty-four hours of free fucks.” Louis laughs. “And I heard the food is _great._ ”

Zayn doesn’t bother responding with words, but he does keep his middle finger in the air until his teacher hisses at him to have some manners.

He doesn’t lower his finger, but it’s nice of her to ask.

**/////**

Zayn immediately regrets hitching a ride to school with Liam when he learns that he has after-school practice as well. He hates that Liam’s such an overachiever and he has to practice with his regularly assigned peers and the varsity as well. Liam said it kept him in shape, but from Zayn’s point of view, he’d never needed any help remaining hot as fuck before, so he didn’t see why he had to start now.

His only saving grace from sitting in the bleachers by himself like a total loser was Harry. He was closing up the shop tonight, so he didn’t have to clock in until six. Zayn would feel bad about Harry being all alone until ten, as would Ed, if they both didn’t know Louis would be up there to keep him company. Ed would feel even worse if he didn’t have video footage of the pair of them defiling countless surface tops in their free time. Free time translating into the times Harry was supposed to be stocking shelves and trying not to fuck up Zayn’s tedious organization system.

Really, who in their right mind thought JoJo was better than Alicia Keys?

Zayn’s ass hurts already from sitting on the metal seats of the bleachers, and he can feel the heavy amounts of chlorine seeping into his skin from just a few minutes of contact. Harry’s lying down with his head pillowed on Zayn’s backpack and his feet in Zayn’s lap. It says something about his love for Harry that he doesn’t tell him to shove off.

“How long does it take for them to change,” Harry gripes to Zayn. “It’s not like they wear much at all. I’m getting tired of watching Coach Cowell walk around in that swishy tracksuit.” He rubs his hands together and makes swishing noises to go along with the ones coming from the swim coach’s clothing and Zayn can’t really do much but roll his eyes.

Zayn scrolls down his Twitter feed, retweeting El’s whiny tweets about love and loss, and Niall’s complaint about being hungry. Not because he agrees with either, but because Louis is always bitching about him not tweeting much, and retweeting seems to do the job just fine, without Zayn having to type anything in himself.

“Stop being a fucking perv and you won’t have to worry about it.”

Harry lifts his foot and drops it down a little too heavily and a little too close to Zayn’s junk. “Louis’ the only one I want to see, and it’s not perving if I’ve already seen him naked.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows at Zayn. “Plus, you know you like seeing Liam all half-naked and wet as much as I like seeing Lou.”

Zayn’s fingers pinch the skin of Harry’s exposed ankle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Both of Harry’s hands were brought below his chin in a school-girlish way, and he batted his eyelashes repetitively. “ _Oh, Liam,_ you’re such a good swimmer. _Oh, Liam,_ can I touch your abs, they look sore, do you need a massage? _No, Liam,_ that’s not a boner. Seeing you in spandex underwear doesn’t make me hard _at all—ow!_ ”

Harry rubbed his knee, where Zayn had slammed his fist to make Harry shut the fuck up.

“Why I tolerate you on a daily basis is beyond me.”

“’Cause you love me, pumpkin.” He sat up and leaned forward to pinch Zayn’s cheek, but a hard squint of Zayn’s eyes made him laugh, but also relent. Good, he wasn’t some little fucking kid and Harry wasn’t one of those annoying aunts at family reunions, who went on and on about how handsome Zayn had gotten, like he didn’t own a mirror. He didn’t need his damn cheeks pinched.

Zayn’s about to tell Harry something creative, such as what he can do with a pumpkin, and where he can shove it, but the locker room doors open. And a bunch of lanky guys came barreling from said doors. Zayn turned his nose up, because a majority of them had no business being on the swim team. It was a miracle in Zayn’s eyes that they’d ever reached past the regional competition with the miles of flabby and weak-muscled build making up Liam and Louis’ teammates.

Not that Zayn’s friends were the only desirable ones on the team, body wise of course. Andy was built, but Zayn watched as he pushed Davis around, and pulled his bottoms away from him and let the tight suit slap back on his ass and he wondered why Liam had ever thought of him as fuckable. Matt Fincham was toned, if not a bit small, but his features were too pinched for Zayn’s liking. Greg, Niall’s older brother, had long legs, and a stocky torso and shoulders. He was also straight as an arrow, and Zayn wasn’t going to break the bro-code any time soon for the older Irish lad.

Trying not to prove Harry’s point, Zayn’s teeth dug hard into the meat of his lip to hold back a groan when Louis pushed Liam out of the locker room. Knowing Zayn would be in the stands among a handful of stragglers that ended up in the pool room, Liam looked up to wave at Zayn. Zayn hit Harry in the thigh when he started snickering as Zayn’s breath caught in his throat at the flexing of Liam’s exposed stomach and arms.

He looked so fucking good that it hurt; his slightly defined arms dangling at his sides when they dropped after his acknowledgement of Zayn and Harry in the stands. Zayn could feel jealousy and anger and a deep-seeded need to haul his fist across Andy’s face when he ran up to Liam and pinched the skin on Liam’s lower back. Super fucking close to his ass. Not that Liam had much of an ass, but it was toned, aligning with the straight line of his thighs, tapering down to his muscled calves.

Liam had the smallest legs on the team, but they were really fucking long, so Zayn guessed it evened out.

“Is that tent you’re pitching under my leg, or are you just— _hit me again, Zayn, and see if I don’t_ — _shit,_ you _suck._ ” Zayn couldn’t bring himself to be bothered to look over at Harry after he reached and twisted one of his sensitive nipples between his fingers and Harry howled in pain. “You really freaking suck.”

Zayn doesn’t answer, instead keeping his eyes on Liam, in case he looks back up at Zayn in the stands as Cowell barks orders and drills at them. They start with a series of stretches that have Zayn pushing Harry off his lap so he can inconspicuously cross his legs. A bead of sweat trickles down his throat, and Zayn’s not sure if it’s because of the stuffy heat mixed with chemicals or the sight of Liam bent in half, his pert little ass facing Zayn’s direction and his calves and upper arms flexing as he touches his toes. Zayn wouldn’t be too fucking shocked if it turned out to be both.

Harry would be laughing, if he wasn’t drooling over Louis just as hard.

Liam does occasionally glance in Zayn’s direction to wave or wink or make Zayn’s question all the wrong choices he made in his previous lives to deserve any of this. Harry starts speaking, and fuck it if he gives Zayn a hard time later on, Zayn doesn’t get that many chances to see Liam practice, so he’s taking advantage of this. He cups his hand over Harry’s mouth and doesn’t even flinch when his tongue sneaks between his lips to wet Zayn’s hand. He has a little sister who needed constant shutting up and a female best friend who was notorious for incessantly running her mouth about one thing or another, and neither of those people had a problem with emitting bodily functions onto Zayn’s hand when he did the very same thing he was doing now.

“Try harder, kid.” Zayn’s getting ready to prepare himself for cardiac arrest as the Coach directs them to gear up to begin actual water drills when Harry’s teeth sink into his finger. “Fuck!” Zayn yells loudly, blushing when everyone turns in his direction to discover where the noise came from.

 “I wouldn’t bite you if you’d keep you hand away from my mouth.”

Harry looks pleased with himself and he leans his body against Zayn, and Zayn begrudgingly slings an arm over his shoulders. It was as if his best mate hadn’t just tried to make a Happy Meal out of his hand. They didn’t discuss anything more as everyone below them brought their goggles up from around their necks, and swim caps began to be passed around.   

Zayn can’t decide if Liam looks ridiculous or annoyingly adorable when he slips his swim cap over his hair. He decides on ridiculous when he also snaps his goggles on his face and the image reminds Zayn of a fish. Zayn’s never gotten the appeal of swimming until Liam started filling out and Zayn got to watch him come and go, in and out of the pool; water dripping off of his body and pooled around his feet by the side of the pool. Kind of like now.

Now he remembers why he doesn’t attend Liam’s meets that often.

Liam swims anchor, so Zayn has to wait for Edward, Jacob and Nick to dive into the water before he can admire hunched over the starting block. He wiggles in place, loosening up the tight muscles in his arms while he waits for Nick’s fingertips to reach his side of the pool. He gets in position later than Zayn knows he likes to, but his form is still graceful as ever as he makes first contact with the water, barely missing the previous swimmer’s legs to avoid a painful collision.

He’s beautiful. That’s the first thought that comes to Zayn’s mind when he sees Liam’s long body breach the surface time and time again. His head comes up on alternate strides to take in gulps of air on his way back into the water. Liam’s lips shape into an ‘o’ that has Zayn’s gulping, trying to regain composure. Zayn’s pictured that mouth, in that same practiced form over his cock, in dirty dream that he has no intention of telling anyone about, Louis and Eleanor be damned.

He ignores the shaking of Harry’s shoulders as he laughs when Zayn yelps is distress and Liam tucks his body into himself and pushes off the wall, waving his hips up and down to gain a powerful momentum that had him slicing through the water at a speed that had Zayn’s mouth open in awe. Not that nearly every action Liam made didn’t already have the same freaking effect.   

It goes like that for the next hour; Zayn hyperventilating over Liam’s filled out body and blinding smile, and Harry’s eyes glazing over when Louis climbs atop the diving board, dropping into the water with an uncharacteristic elegance after doing a series of body flips Zayn had personally helped drill into his head. By the time Cowell claps Greg and Louis on the back, and tells them to take their teams to the locker room, Zayn is about ready for a breather. Liam won’t take near as long as Louis will to shower, but he’ll wait patiently, even if Zayn would have left his ass behind. But he was a lot more crude than Liam and patience was not his virtue.

“So,” Harry says, sounding almost as breathless as Zayn feels, “that was very telling, wouldn’t you say?”

The smug lip that Harry turns up at him begs for a headlock at the least, but Zayn’s still winded from the memory of water trickling down the smooth surface of Liam’s stomach, rippling as he laughed and stretched and swam and fucking _breathed._ So he smashes Harry’s socked feet under the toe of his boot and smiles in contentment when he winces and looks at Zayn in a betrayed manner.

“This relationship is taking an abusive turn, Zayn.” Zayn shrugs and places his feet on top of the metal seat in front of him. He hangs his head in his hands out of mental exhaustion. He’s really glad he doesn’t have to go back in to work tonight. Harry sighs and Zayn can feel him rubbing his back consolingly. “You’re no fun when you’re sad, mate. And that makes me sad. Louis says I don’t look good when I’m upset; says my face scrunches up too much and I just look confused. You wouldn’t make me ugly, would you? I thought we were friends.”

Zayn turns his head in his hands, but he doesn’t sit up. He genuinely has no clue what Harry is talking about, but that isn’t relatively new. “The hell are you on about?”

Harry looks at him very akin to how Louis regarded him earlier and it’s starting to make Zayn’s skin crawl. It’s a look filled with sympathy and pity, and there’s nothing Zayn hates more than pity. He’s not a fucking charity case. “You’re miserable with this on your chest, you gotta tell him.”

“Tell who, what?” Zayn asks the question out of feigned ignorance. He’s fully aware of whom Harry is talking about, but the curly-haired shit isn’t good with confrontation, so hopefully if Zayn plays dumb long enough, he’ll let him slide.

“Tell Liam,” he says, diminishing Zayn’s hopes of Harry letting the issue fade to black. “Tell him that you think he’s fit and you want to—” he waves his hands around in the air, searching for the right word, Zayn assumes. “You want to do things you would do with people who are fit. It’s that simple, really.”

Harry makes an obscene gesture with his hands that Zayn honestly doesn’t have the energy to process the meaning of.

“I don’t want to bang him,” Zayn spits out. _He wants to be with him,_ but even if he doesn’t say that, he has a feeling Harry already knows that. “And even if I did, I’m not throwing a decade’s worth of friendship away for a quick fuck. It’s a crush, it’ll pass. I’m not in fucking love with him.”

Harry discounts the ending of his statements and frowns at him. “Why would it only be a quick fuck?”

“Because I don’t date and Liam dates too much,” he explains quickly. “And what if we broke up? I don’t want shit to get weird between all of us if it goes bad…” Zayn hesitates, almost voicing that if he had a chance with Liam, he would _never_ let anything rip them apart, but he carries on with his nonchalance, keeping his façade in place. “It’s really for the good of you lot that I don’t hook up with Liam, so fucking say thank you or something.”

His friend scoffs. “Yeah, think of the kids, man.”

Zayn is going to find whoever started that joke, the one where he and Liam are the parents of their little group, and he’s going to rob them of their life. He shoulder checks Harry playfully, but Zayn can see the irritation in those aggravatingly expressive eyes of his. That irritates Zayn in return. It’s none of Harry’s business what he does or doesn’t do with his love life.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Zayn snaps at Harry.

“Then don’t be a _dumb_ ass,” he retorts with a rise in his voice. “You and Liam are—”

“Zayn and Liam are what?”

Zayn and Harry look down and see Louis and Liam making their way up the steps to reach them. The incline in Harry’s voice carried farther than he intended and the ending of their conversation had been heard by the boy in question. Zayn didn’t worry, because unlike Harry he knew how to use his fucking inside voice, and he was one hundred percent certain Liam hadn’t heard the meaty parts of their chat.

The lengths of Liam’s legs carry him up the steps faster than Louis and he’s pulling Zayn up on his feet. His hands wrap around the thin bone of Zayn’s wrists and tug gently until Zayn stands willingly. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, lugging Zayn in for a hug. Well, it wasn’t a hug, just Liam’s arms around his waist and Zayn’s hands pillowed on his chest, moving over the white towel around Liam’s neck.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Payne.” Zayn pokes the end of his nose and feels his heart stutter in his chest when Liam’s face breaks into a marvelous grin—god, Zayn’s such a pussy. “You’re my ride, so I didn’t have much of a choice.”

In retaliation to his attitude, Liam leans forward and rubs his wet hair all over Zayn’s collarbone. It’s gross and Zayn tries to push Liam off immediately, but he’s pulled forward into the cold shock of Liam’s dripping hair. He grabs the towel by his hands and brings it up to the back of Liam’s head, scrunching his hair in between his fingers and drying all the water out. Liam’s laughter vibrates against Zayn’s neck and he twists in his grasp when Liam’s fingers start towards Zayn’s ribs.

“If you tickle me, I will break your hands. No bullshit, Liam.” The threat falls empty when Zayn squeals like a fucking chick as Liam picks him up and blows a goddamn raspberry into Zayn’s throat.

When he’s back on his feet and not afraid of falling to his death on the bleachers, he balls his fist and yanks his arm back to punch Liam in the arm for the second time today. Only Liam’s ready and he catches his hand with a laugh and a kiss to Zayn’s cheek.

“You’re a dead man walking.”

Liam kisses his other cheek and Zayn’s pretty much settled after that.

The long stretch of Liam’s arm falls around his shoulders and they start walking back down the bleachers together. In the corner of his eye, he sees Harry draining water from Louis’ ear and he winces in disgust. The pair of them start following Liam and Zayn when they notice them leaving. Zayn looks back and watches Harry take in Zayn pressed up against Liam’s side.

“Liam and Zayn are _married,_ is what they are,” he mumbles at Louis, whose head falls back as he cackles.

Liam remains oblivious, but Zayn gives a one finger salute in response.

One day he’s really going to figure out why he’s friends with all of them. He is.

**/////**

Zayn doesn’t know why he’s up to his elbows in flour, with cookie dough in his hair and under the beds of his fingernails, but he’s certain the reasoning behind it has nothing to do with him.

Louis phoned him after school on Friday when he’d dropped Harry off for a quick shift at Ed’s. Zayn knew he and Liam had a swim meet around six, but apparently until then he and Zayn were baking sheet after sheet of cookies. Niall was the official taste tester, when he wasn’t in the living room watching soccer matches with Lottie and sneaking bags of crisps from the cupboards. But good old Niall, never one to pass up the chance of free food, drove over as soon as Louis told him he was at the store for cooking ingredients.

“Why are we doing all this shit?” As far as Zayn knew, Louis didn’t have any debts—and if he did, why the fuck would he pay them off with chocolate chip snacks—and Zayn didn’t want to waste the rest of his free afternoon over the heat of Ms. Tomlinson’s stove. “You don’t even like chocolate chip, and I know these aren’t for Liam, so what’s up? Did you run over an old lady again?”

Louis passed behind Zayn on his way to the stove and tugged on his hair _hard._ The joke was on him, because Zayn wasn’t tender-headed at all.

“That was _one_ time, and I didn’t hit her. I bumped her because she wheeled out in the road—you know what? Screw you, see if you get any when we’re done.”

Zayn laughs into his sleeve, wiping off flour when it makes his nose itch. “Touchy, touchy.”

Louis opened the oven and exchanged the tray with the finished product for a tray of raw dough. He hissed when his finger touched the bottom of the pan for a second and he threw the cookies down on the counter. “All of these are for the old ladies on Harry’s street. I’m warning them about the noise, and hopefully a fresh batch of cookies will help ease them to bed with a pair of earplugs tonight.” Louis sucked his burnt finger into his mouth. “I’m bringing Niall’s sound system, so it’s going to get pretty wild. We’re getting white girl wasted.”

“Correction,” Zayn says, wetting a rag and pressing it to Louis’ hand, “ _you’re_ getting wasted. I’m chilling for a bit and walking home.” He walks around Louis to start shuffling cookies into the tins Louis picked up at the store. “I have to take Harry’s shift over at six so he can go to your meet and then my own shift doesn’t end until ten-thirty.” Zayn props himself up on the counter, where Louis always tosses the mail. “This week has been too fucking long.”

Niall appears out of nowhere, like he usually does, and snags a cookie from the opened tin by Zayn’s arm. “That’s why you’re supposed to party, mate. It’s a stress reliever.” He smacks a kiss to Zayn’s cheek and accepts a pat on the bum in return. “Drink a few pints and see how long the week feels. Always works for me.”

“You’re Irish. Any problem you have can be solved with a few pints.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a little drinkin’,” he says, exposing the top row of his teeth to Zayn with a wide grin. Niall leans close to Zayn’s ear to whisper lowly. “Or a little smokin’, if Lou has the right stuff.”

“You know I’m always down for a nice joint,” Zayn pipes up, ignoring Louis’ hard glare and concern for them to keep it down with his sister in the next room. “That’s why you’re my favorite, Ni.”

Niall sighs mockingly, like he’s lifting the worries of everyone else’s jealousy off his shoulders. “I keep trying to tell them, Zed.” He slouches against him and throws an arm across Zayn’s back. “They just don’t understand. My partying skills outweigh Liam’s puppy-dog eyes and El’s sarcasm by a wide mile. I’m cuter, too.”

Zayn laughs along with him. “That you are, Nialler.”

Zayn doesn’t tell him that said puppy-dog eyes tie Zayn’s stomach into knots that he can only untangle with an ounce of bourbon and a wisp of warm smoke filling up his lungs. No, Zayn thinks that would ruin the moment. But the silent look Niall gives him makes him think he might already know. But Niall’s cuteness really does do a number on Eleanor’s stupid sarcastic remarks about every little thing.

Niall’s out as quickly as he enters, grabbing a soda from the fridge and sidestepping Louis’ playful swats when he makes another lunge for the cookies. Zayn scoffs at their carrying-on and turns his back to them, sliding his palms across the countertop and accidentally scattering mail all over the floor. Niall almost slips on an envelope and nearly falls on his ass via his escape route from Louis’ clutches, but he rights himself at the last minute and Louis and Zayn chuckle as they gather the letters and cards that went flying across the kitchen floor.

The thick and large envelope that Louis hurriedly rushes to pick up makes Zayn do a double take and frown. He has several of those same envelopes sitting at home on his desk, hastily opened and stuck in a pile until he makes a decision on where he’s going to let his future guide him. The maroon Trojan in the corner of the envelope isn’t what moves him to be curious, it’s the panic in Louis’ usually chilled features that draws his attention, like he’s trying to hide something from Zayn and that’s strange.

“That’s an acceptance letter, right?” He asks the question with a low tone of voice, knowing if Louis didn’t want Zayn to know, it was likely he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “They don’t send giant fucking envelopes to tell you to fuck off. Where’d you get in at?”

“Just some dumb school,” Louis says, biting his lip and shoving the basis of Zayn’s questioning into a drawer adjacent to him. “It’s that one me and you applied to together, remember? We were so drunk when we filled out those applications,” he laughs, forcibly from what Zayn can see. “I don’t know how they let me in, in the first place. I probably won’t even go.”

Louis shrugs at the end of his horrible attempt at lying straight to Zayn’s face. He remembers applying to a lot of schools with Louis that night. They were the eldest and when everyone else was stuck here, they didn’t want to be on their own just yet. Zayn mostly applied because Louis was applying. He hadn’t known then what he wanted to do with his life, and he still didn’t know now. It had to be something involving music, that’s all he knew. Zayn couldn’t picture himself at some stuffy school, trying to take a professor serious when he didn’t give a shit about the subject. Hell, he did that now, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again.

Louis’ mum wanted him to swim. She’d gotten a better job in the last couple of years, enough to move Louis and his sisters across town to a place where everyone could have their own rooms. But she was still a single mother, and University was still too expensive for Louis and his mum to shoulder without the help of an athletic scholarship.

Louis never made any outward comments, but Zayn knew he didn’t love to dive as much as everyone thought he did. Zayn doesn’t blame Louis, because swimming just seems really fucking boring, but he was good at it, better than he was at soccer and unlike Zayn, Louis genuinely liked the water. But after a while, Zayn had seen that light in his eyes leave him—the same light that Liam still had for the sport—and it was sort of sad to Zayn to see his mate struggling so hard with the decision to keep diving and swimming, or do what he really loved.

Acting.

Zayn furrows his brows as he tries to remember which schools they applied to that had a Trojan as a mascot. The only one that came to mind was their silly hoping for USC in the States, but surely Louis hadn’t gotten accepted there, and if he did, Zayn doubted he would leave Harry behind for four years. Or however long it took Harry to follow him around the world.

But the hiding, and the silence and secrecy blared in Zayn’s skull and he knew that USC was the only answer. He remembers being intrigued by the idea of being in California, that close to so much culture and great music, and Louis’ attraction to the acting programs and all the opportunities he would have there. 

Shit, Louis finally fucking did it. He found a way to put as much space between him and this town.

“It’s USC, isn’t it?” he speaks, knowing he’s correct when Louis flinches and slides the last and final batch of cookies out of the oven. He sees Louis peer into the living room and breathe out a sigh of relief when he sees its inhabitants occupied and oblivious to their conversation. “Dude, that’s great. Why are you freaking out? I haven’t even gotten anything back from them yet. I skip too much class and my English grades are shit.” He clears his throat, egging Louis to look his way. “I’m proud of you, man. I really am.”

Louis still doesn’t look at Zayn and that agitates him, so he steps closer and his frown returns when Louis takes a step back.

“Just—just don’t tell Harry, yet, okay?” His voice shakes and all of these out of character reactions from Louis are really making Zayn itch for a cigarette. “I haven’t even decided if I want to go, and I don’t want him to start worrying over nothing.”

Louis is at the sink, scrubbing away uselessly at the bowl that once held cookie dough and chocolate chips. Zayn grabs him by the back of the shoulders and turns him around, recoiling when Louis decks him in the ribs because Zayn might have been a little too forceful. They smile at each other and laugh, because Louis is a fucking basket case on his best day.

The water is still running as they settle down, and it makes excellent background noise when Zayn gathers Louis in his arms and holds him close, the both of their faces in each other’s necks. It’s nothing like his embraces with Liam; it’s strictly platonic and Zayn only allows himself to reach out to Louis because right now he thinks they both need it. The weight of growing up is heavy amongst the two of them, and Zayn hates how it makes their shoulders physically fall as if they’re weak or something.

Zayn and Louis are a lot of things: assholes, dorks, suckers for a good cup of tea, and closet fans of Selena Gomez; but weak is nowhere on the list, okay?

“Go,” he whispers into Louis’ neck, blanching when a stray fleck of flour ends up on his nose. “I know you’re scared, Lou, but _go._ ” Louis scoffs at the idea of being afraid of anything besides spiders and getting fat, but Zayn sees right through the bullshit. “I’ll go with you, if you want. Regardless if they let me in that stupid school or not, I won’t make you face that shit alone. And don’t worry about Harry,” he reassures. “He’ll be happy that you’re happy. That boy is literally so far up your ass, he can see out of your eyes. Just chill, mate.”

Louis draws his head back, but doesn’t remove himself from the hug. “You would do that? You would go with me, really?”

He seems to have missed his insult to his and Harry’s proximity and zeroed in on Zayn’s promise to accompany him to the other side of the world.

“I just said that, didn’t I?”

He huffs at Zayn. “It’s not a decision you can make so easily, Zayn. You’d be leaving everything behind. El, Niall, Harry, the girls, your parents, Ed… _Liam._ ” He tries to move back, but Zayn stops him, catching the little shit by the back of the neck and hauling him back in. “I won’t get mad if you back out, Zayn. It’s understandable. We were wasted when you applied; it’s not a big deal if I go by myself, _if_ I even go.”

And he’s right, that’s a lot to leave behind so Louis can follow his dream and Zayn can interact with a few lowlife musicians on street corners and boardwalks. Or was that New York? Maybe that was New York. It was adventure, though. It was a new scene and a new lease on life. Zayn was versatile; he would adapt. And even though Louis claimed he would go by himself, Zayn could sniff out the lie from here. He didn’t have a bad home life, he had a few friends he would admittedly regret leaving behind, and he would miss his sisters like crazy. Zayn wasn’t going to even entertain the thought of how much he would miss Liam, but maybe this was the fresh start he would need.

Zayn was _drowning_ here. This town was full of memories spent with a boy that would never love Zayn back the way Zayn thinks he’s always loved him. And perhaps Zayn needed a new venue to gasp for air in the form of new faces and new chances to fall in love with someone who would help him scrape the want for Liam out from under his skin. Maybe.

“Okay, you overdramatic shit, give me a few days, maybe even a week and I’ll tell you what’s up.” Zayn was close enough to Louis’ face to see a shred of hope flash across it. God, this kid was a pain in his ass. Zayn clasped him by the narrow nape of his neck and attached their foreheads together so Louis could see the seriousness in Zayn’s features. “But you’re going to that school, even if I have to drag your annoying ass across the ocean myself. Don’t laugh, because I’m _not_ joking. You’re going. And if I don’t have anything else on my schedule, we’re going.”

Something in Zayn’s chest settles when Louis smiles at him and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sometimes I forget how busy you are. My, it must suck to be so important.”

“You try being this pretty and having an empty agenda,” he says, pressing a slobbery kiss to Louis’ forehead and shoving him away. “Now get off me, this moment’s getting a little too gay, even for me. Go back to making your bribery cookies, I can feel myself starting to grow a vagina, mate.”

Louis steals Zayn’s signature move and gives him the finger, slipping away with a smile and gathering the dishes into the dishwasher. “I see, so the obsession with dicks in your ass has nothing to do with you being gay; it’s the discussion of your feelings that makes you wave your queer flag. Logical, as always, Zayn.”

“I don’t know if I walked in at the wrong time, or if you two are just really fucking weird.”

They both turn to Niall, who doesn’t appear privy to their prior conversation, and Zayn knows the fucker has nothing on his mind, sans for his inner salivation at the stacked tins of baked goods. Louis shoots Zayn a knowing grin and they speak at the same time.

“Both.”

**/////**

“Is Ne-yo better than Usher? This shouldn’t be as serious of a dilemma as it is, but your dumb sorting system has me making life choices over album consistency and vocal ability.”

El was fucking champ, working with Zayn to sort out boxes of CDs Harry had forgotten about before he clocked out. Zayn knew the kid had a lot of things on his mind, and he was running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to make sure he had shit sorted out for the party, as well as attend his boyfriend’s swim meet. But it still freaking sucked to have to do his share of the work and Harry’s as well. Zayn didn’t see the appeal of a party, anyhow. It was only 9:57 and he was already feeling sluggish.

But Eleanor didn’t feel like tagging along with Niall to watch the meet, so she hitched a ride with Zayn at the beginning of his shift and she’d been busting her ass to take some of the workload off of Zayn’s shoulders. He would pick her up Starbuck’s with no charge for the next week. Zayn’s sure that will suffice. If it didn’t, she was shit out of luck, because his car payment was due this week and coffee was about all he could splurge on thanks to his phone bill being sky high, and gas costing an arm and an asshole for a full tank.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insinuate that Ne-yo could even _hold a candle_ to Usher,” he says, sorting in an old Backstreet Boys CD next to a Westlife one and wiping the dust off of a 98° disc when the thin filming of dirt made his nose scrunch. “Even if Usher’s been putting out a bunch of techno shit lately, he’s still one of the greats. Put him next to Alicia Keys and Aaliyah.”

She shrugged and went to find the place Zayn was looking for, locating it easily and inserting _Confessions_ next to _The Diary of Alicia Keys._ She tossed Ne-yo’s disc in Zayn’s pile, lifted herself onto the counter and took a break. Zayn didn’t bitch because she wasn’t even supposed to be helping him in the first place, and by herself, she’d gone through two boxes and checked out five customers. If he didn’t know Harry needed the money, he would have told Ed to hire on Eleanor a long time ago. But he genuinely doubted El would take the position anyway. She only helped Zayn out because they were friends and she was bored. There was no chance in hell she would show up regularly if she had better things to do.

Headlights blinded Zayn through the windows. He groaned. He hated customers who came in at the last fucking second. If Ed didn’t have cameras all over the damn store, Zayn would have locked up before whoever it was in the car got to the door. “Who wants to come to a record store at ten o’clock on a Friday? Does no one in this town have a life?”

Eleanor looked up from her phone—she was scrolling through her texts and typing furiously—and clapped her hands. She hopped down from the countertop and walked to the door. “That’s Mitch,” she explained, making Zayn roll his eyes. “Don’t do that, I can see your reflection in the glass. He’s going over to Harry’s and I asked him to pick us up some food before he went. I don’t want to get wasted on an empty stomach.”

Zayn didn’t speak, just looked at her and hoped she could feel his criticism from here.

“He’s not that bad,” she defended.

“He really is, though.”

And he was. Mitch Donovan was a dick. He treated Eleanor like shit and then tried to make up for it by doing simple favors for her, and she always fell for it. They weren’t even dating, so Zayn didn’t see what all the hype was. Though Eleanor flirted with other guys, she never slept with them, on Mitch’s behalf. Not that he held her in the same regard.

“Whatever,” she said, opening the door. “I hope he spits in your food before he gives it to me.”

“Like I’m eating anything that’s directly associated with Mitch Donovan.”

Zayn picked up the broom as Eleanor made her way outside and stood by the car door. He couldn’t even get out to see her for a second. Zayn can admit that he was being nosy as he cleaned up the store, sweeping a section and glancing out the window for another. He contemplated getting the window cleaner from the back to have a justifiable reason to stare while he was wiping away whatever the fuck Harry and Ed had gotten all over the windows during their epic food fight a few weeks ago. In the end he decided he was too lazy.

Plus, what the fuck did he care if Mitch had a problem with him?

Eleanor came back in eventually and threw a bag of _McDermott’s_ at Zayn’s chest to catch. She already had her food in her hand, and she’d thrown him whatever was left over. Zayn normally wouldn’t have indulged El’s weakness to Mitch’s simple pleasures, but Cathy at _McDermott’s_ made the best burgers and Zayn really was hungry.

“So are you two screwing around or what? I can never keep up. I don’t even think you can keep up,” he said around a bite of the cheeseburger he unwrapped. “He’s a real dick, you know?”

El’s eyes squeezed into slits and she waited until she finished chewing her food to talk. “I could say the same thing about you and Liam, but unlike you _and_ Mitch, I’m not a total dick.”

Okay. “For the record, I resent being compared with that asshole.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” she says, now smiling around a bite of food to lighten up the mood. “He actually asked me if _you and I_ were a thing.” She pulled a face and Zayn followed suit. “If me being your fag-hag keeps cock-blocking me, I’m telling Liam you’re in love with him myself.”

“Since when are you my fag-hag? I wasn’t aware that I ever appointed you to that position.”

“I tell you what,” Eleanor says, disgustingly chewing with her mouth open, “Liam better start appointing _you_ to positions, or I’m gonna go crazy. I can’t get sent to the nuthouse Zayn, I’m too pretty to be locked up. And I don’t mug-shot well. Lindsay Lohan, I am not.”

“You don’t have to take a mug-shot to be locked in the looney bin.”

“Good job at avoiding the subject.” He throws a fry at her smug face. “Hey! I’m just saying. You know I have a point, or your panties wouldn’t be in such a bunch. I’ve been around you guys for three years, and Lou says that’s only the tip of the iceberg regarding the suffocating sexual tension with you two. Have you seriously never tried to make a move?”

If she were a dude, Zayn would have hit her in the balls. Or kicked her. Maybe he could still get away with a punch to the boob, but he doubted it. Also, this was El, and despite Harry, Lou and Niall being around longer, she was a girl and she felt compelled to give him advice and shit, regardless if he listened or not. There was a chance she could have been correct in some of the crazy schemes she’d cooked up to get Zayn into Liam’s pants if he ever let her follow through with them. But he was a chicken shit, as per Louis’ labeling.

Zayn liked to coin himself as _cautious_ instead; it didn’t make his self esteem plummet as tremendously.

He opens his mouth to defend himself—tell Eleanor that no, he’s never made a move on Liam because they are friends before anything else, and that’s never going to be up for debate unless Liam says otherwise—but his phone goes off in his pocket. Zayn holds up a finger, signaling for El to hold on for a second.

“What do you want to bet that’s Liam?”

Zayn doesn’t bother feeding her knowing grin with a response, because it is Liam and he doesn’t feel like bothering with her mocking replies or priggish smiles. He slides his thumb to accept Liam’s call and purposefully turns away to gain himself a little privacy from Eleanor—who’s shoving fries into her mouth and smiling at Zayn with a glint in her eyes that he doesn’t appreciate.

“You do know that I have a job, right?” He says, biting his lip to smother the smile that’s a result of hearing Liam’s chuckle over the phone. He continues, knowing that he’ll get more laughter if he keeps giving him shit, and that’s something he doesn’t have the power to pass up. “That is reverent information to everyone, correct? Yet here I am taking calls in the middle of a shift, even though I’ll see you in an hour, tops. What do you want?”

Zayn can’t see him, but he knows Liam well enough to know he wets his lips before he speaks, a habit he picked up a long while ago. “It’s always so nice talking to you, Zayn. Really, a pleasure.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get to the point.”

He chuckles again, and Zayn can see Eleanor smirking around a bite of her burger in the reflective glass of the back shelf. Liam clears his throat and there’s a muffled sound of a girl’s voice in the receiver. Zayn tries not to scowl at the idea of Liam phoning him while he’s riding around with someone else.

“I just called to tell you I went by the house and tucked Safaa in.” Liam shifts the phone between his ear and his shoulder. Zayn tries not to behave like a soccer mom and bitch at Liam for speaking on the phone and driving. “I put her in your room, ‘cause it’ll be farthest from the noise. You mum’s home, but your dad’s not there, yet. Trish said she’d turn in around midnight, so we better not be too loud at Haz’s.”

Zayn knew it used to irritate his mum that Safaa wouldn’t go to sleep under anyone’s direction, sans Liam or Zayn, but she loved it now. She said it never made her the bad guy when Safaa had to go to bed early on school nights and it took a lot of stress off of her back. Zayn loved it too, but he would never admit it out loud. Liam taking such good care of his sisters, of him, was just another think to add to his fucking list of reasons why he was in love with him; one of many.

He tried to act nonchalant about it, smothering his adoration with an unconcerned tone. “Cool,” he said. “What’s Waliyha doing tonight, then?”

Zayn hated that he had to ask, but it wasn’t odd for Liam to know more about Waliy’s schedule than he did at certain times. He hated that it hadn’t even passed his mind to make sure his sister’s were occupied while they threw a party on their street. Zayn chalked it up to everything that had been going on—seeing Liam practically naked in those little fucking underwear and Louis trying to take off by himself halfway across the world—and the fact that he didn’t go out to party much.

“I’m driving her to Gracie’s right now,” Liam answers. Zayn hears a voice with a feminine rise to it—Waliyha’s—say something in the background. “Waliy says she hopes you have a horrible hangover tomorrow, ‘cause that’s what thieves deserve. She says you’re lucky she hasn’t been able to find the Drake record yet.” Liam stops to take another message from Waliyha. “I think you should just hand over the Alicia Key’s CD, babe. She sounds like she means business.”

Zayn huffs in irritation, once at Liam and Waliyha ganging up on him for a stupid CD he doesn’t even have, and once more for Eleanor pinching him and alerting him that it was almost time for him to clock out.

“Tell her if she touches my Take Care vinyl, I’m finding her diary and reading it to Ian Sanderson.”

Zayn can practically see his stupid fucking adorable eyebrows scrunch between his eyes. “Who’s Ian Sanderson?”

Zayn takes it from the shocked gasp in the background that Waliyha put the pieces together from the mention of her dumb little crush’s name. She’s always been rather clever; she definitely gets that from her big brother.

He sees Eleanor’s reflection lean over the counter again to no doubt inflict more pain and direct his attention to the clock. “El, if you pinch me again, I’m socking you in the boob or burning your Starbuck’s gift card that’s in my wallet. Keep your talons to yourself or pick which one you want.”

She backs off and Liam laughs again in his ear. Eleanor looks like the decision of which would be worse is heavy on her mind, and Zayn figures she’s sated enough for him to finish his phone conversation before he has to clock out. He genuinely hopes that Liam doing all this doesn’t give him the impression that Zayn will be staying at Harry’s all night, because he won’t. Around one, he’s going home and going to fucking sleep. He might stumble down the street before then if Niall and Louis can scrounge up some good weed that makes Zayn’s thoughts light and his eyes heavy. He’ll see what the night brings.

“Well if you have the girls all settled, I’ll park at home and walk over when I get there.” He looks up at the clock to see that he’s a few minutes past clock-out, but it won’t kill Ed to pay him a little overtime.

“I can wait around your place and walk over with you if you want. That way you don’t have to walk alone at night.” The concern for Zayn’s wellbeing in his voice makes something inside his skin crawl.

Zayn doesn’t hesitate to scoff in irritation. “It’s two houses down, Liam, I’m not going to get kidnapped on my way there, chill out. Plus, El’s with me and no one’s going to go through the trouble of taking us off the street only to bring us back once she opens her mouth.”

“Alright then,” Liam says, and Zayn knows he’ll have to muster up an apology later for being so brash. “I guess I’ll see you at Harry’s house then?”

He hates the grin his mouth makes at the possibly imagined hopefulness in Liam’s voice.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Cool,” he smiles, Zayn can tell from the rise in his voice. “Oh, and Zayn?”

“What?”

“Give Waliyha her CD back; it’s not nice to steal.”

All Zayn can get out is a choked, “Fuck you,” before he hangs up on Liam’s chuckles and Waliyha’s tinny yells through his cell phone speaker.

Zayn scoffs and pockets his phone, ignoring the look he’s getting from Eleanor that he doesn’t have the energy or desire to decipher the meaning of. He does a mental check of the store, trying to remember if he forgot to do anything before he gathers up the cash in the register and deposits it in the safe for Ed and Bonnie to deal with tomorrow morning. El’s sacking up their forgotten food and trash and tossing it in the bin at the end of the counter.

Zayn slips his ID from his neck and tosses it harshly in the box with all his and Harry’s shit and slapping the counter loudly, exerting his temporary frustrations.

Where does Liam get off telling him it’s wrong to steal, when he came in unsuspectingly and stole Zayn’s heart a long fucking time ago?

**/////**

Zayn can tell by the time he and El walk into Harry’s yard, that there isn’t enough cookies in the world to make up for the amount of noise that will be made tonight. He assumes people took cabs or carpooled their way over here, based on the amount of vehicles on the lawn not matching up with the fifty or so people thriving on the makeshift dance floor and lounging around in the backyard.

Louis wasn’t known for parties, neither was Harry. That was more Niall’s forte. But he did have a good amount of acquaintances and people Zayn would stretch to call his friends. It was mostly just the theatre geeks and the assholes on the swim team that Louis was responsible for. Everyone else was Niall doing, or Harry’s, judging by the slightly older University guys that Zayn spotted milling around in ugly fucking jumpers with overly large glasses perched on their noses.

Fucking hipsters.

Liam’s truck had been parked in front of Zayn’s house, so he knew he was here, but he hadn’t spotted him on his way to the kitchen. El pressed a kiss to Zayn’s cheek and made her way over to Harry in the corner, who was nursing a cup and looking like he’d been drinking way before the party was said to start around nine. Louis wasn’t at his side and Zayn found that odd.

His mind brought him back to their earlier conversation and he wondered if Louis was trying to keep his distance from Haz. Zayn knew Louis couldn’t lie for shit when it came to Harry, and under different circumstances, that would be a good thing. Zayn vowed to keep his distance as well, at least until he made up his mind about whether or not he was joining Louis at University. Ultimately the decision would affect Harry more than anyone besides their parents and Zayn didn’t want to imagine the wounded look that would grace the young features of his best mate and the love of Louis’ life.

Zayn’s hands were twitching for something stronger than a cigarette and if Niall was good on his promise, he would be in the backyard, seeing as Anne would scalp Harry’s precious curls if the living room smelled of pot when she returned. He swiped a glass of something that was on the counter in the kitchen, hoping it wasn’t spiked with anything crazy as he took a chug. Zayn grimaced at the watered down taste of alcohol and strawberries, but it provided the buzz he needed at the moment, so he wasn’t going to bitch and moan.

“Zayn, my man!” Niall’s voice erupted across the backyard as soon as Zayn slid open the glass door and peeked out. Some girl’s face was plastered to his neck and he was supporting both of their combined weight by placing his back on the fence and wiggling his ass farther into the ground. “Come out here, you’re missing all of the fun!”

By fun he meant Louis and Josh playing bloody knuckles and trying not to drop the tiny joint in their hands when they passed it back and forth to Niall and whatever girl was in his arms. Zayn laughs and closes the door behind him, barely escaping an elbow to the face when a group of girls worm their way past him and into Harry’s house.

Zayn notices Mitch in the corner with Sophie King and it takes all the energy he has left in his body not to walk right up to him and punch him in the mouth, with the way his arm is around her shoulder and she’s laughing into his chest. He makes note of it, though, and he shoots him daggers on his way to sit between Niall and Josh near the wooden fence.

“What are you fuckheads doing?” He takes the liberty of rolling up another blunt with the supplies in a baggie at Niall’s feet. “And have any of you seen Liam? He’s not in the house, or if he is I didn’t see him.”

Josh smiles at him, doing a quick intake of breath before turning the joint in his hand and passing the end that wasn’t burning in Louis’ direction. “Why? Need your dick sucked— _ow, shit, Zayn!_ ”

Zayn’s fist stung from punching him in the forehead, but the succession of coughs racking though Josh’s chest was satisfaction enough. It wasn’t his fault Josh either couldn’t take a hit or he was an amateur smoker. You could waylay Zayn in the mouth and there was no way the smoke was getting stuck between his lungs and his throat.

“You know Liam’s a tricky subject with him,” Louis says, leaning across Josh and accepting the new joint Zayn had rolled up, tossing the butt of the previous one over his shoulder and somewhere in the grass. “I don’t know how many bruises Z’s going to have to give you before you learn to leave him alone about it.”

Zayn takes another swig of his drink and pinches the end of the joint when Niall stretches out his hand after he takes his turn following Louis. His eyes are closed when the door opens again and he’s enjoying the sticky sweet smoke that enters his lungs among the sounds of Niall’s laugher and Louis and Josh’s soft-hearted bickering. He does a double hit, encasing his lips around the blunt and smiling when it tickles the back of his throat.

Zayn hasn’t had nearly enough to wear away the side effects of a long week, but it’s a firm start.

The smoke rolls out of his mouth and clouds his vision when he eventually opens his eyes. There’s a pressure in his lap, the weight of someone’s head and he makes the assumption that Niall got tired of whatever girl was on his arm and was looking for a good cuddle. The joint is slipped from his hands and when the thick of the smoke clears out enough, Zayn smiles when he sees that it’s Liam who’s come to rest in his lap.

He must have been who came out of the door.

“We were just talking about you,” Zayn says, reaching down to prod at Liam’s face. Liam’s eyes flutter closed for the flash of a second and Zayn allows himself to imagine that Liam’s enjoying the feel of his fingers across his skin before he scoffs and thinks, yeah freaking right.

“All good, I hope.” Liam smiles up at Zayn from where his head is resting on Zayn’s thigh, body stretched out before him. His shirt is too fucking tight, like the majority of Liam’s shirts are, but at least his stupid biceps aren’t showing in the long-sleeved shirt that encases his entire arm. “Hey, pass that this way, will you? Beer’s not working fast enough tonight.”

Zayn can see that’s a lie, and his fingers trail under the rims of Liam’s eyes, noting the redness that’s already embedded there and smelling the faint hint of alcohol on his breath. Liam’s not a big drinker, so when he does drink he’s a fucking lightweight. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so annoying. He’s even worse with weed, the fact being he never, _ever_ remembers what happened the night before if he mixes the two together. Liam could be tranny-hopping, or having the best sex of his life and he would never know it, because weed fucks up his brain and too much beer fucks up his system.

Also, like Louis, weed makes Liam insufferably horny, and Zayn’s not watching him hump every girl or guy with a pulse tonight. No fucking way, he’s dealt with enough of Liam’s shit this week. He can suck on some unsuspecting victim’s neck some other night.

Louis nods at Liam, unable to speak because he’s still processing the smoke and he hates the way his voice sounds when he’s high. Zayn rolls his eyes. When Lou leans over Josh to pass to Liam, Zayn intercepts and swats hastily at Liam’s hands.

“No sir,” he says, taking a hit himself and not minding how the smoke roughens up his voice. “I’m not picking you up off the floor tomorrow and recounting all the events of tonight because you can’t handle being stoned. I’m too tired for that shit.”

Zayn passes to Niall, whose giggling when his girl’s breath tickles his neck and Zayn’s not looking forward to the dinner he’s going to be throwing up if they get any more handsy tonight. Liam’s pouting and Zayn’s doing his best to ignore the prominent jut of his lip while his fingers roam over the other features of Liam’s face.

“One hit isn’t going to do all that,” he explains, as if he knows himself better than Zayn does, which is laughable at best. “Let me shotgun it at least, maybe it won’t be—”

“No.”

The only person getting their lips on Liam’s is Zayn, and he doesn’t have enough self control built up from seeing Liam in a goddamn spandex Speedo to quell down any desires that may come up if he has to transfer anything from his mouth to Liam’s. He’s also lacking in the self control not to punch someone in the face if they happen to slot lips with Liam. He’s just feeling violent tonight, okay?

But because Louis’ a little shit and a joint not only has the power to increase his libido, but also heighten his urge to be a pain in Zayn’s ass, he smirks and says to Liam, “I’m sure Josh wouldn’t mind shot-gunning you, Li.” And he looks right at Zayn while he says it.

At least Josh has the decency to quickly refuse while Zayn’s busy wishing death upon Louis and Liam is still lying with his head on Zayn’s thighs, pouting like a giant fucking baby.

“Fine,” Zayn sighs. “Get high if you want, Liam, but if you wake up tomorrow with holes in your memory and a stolen wallet, don’t come crying to me.”

Liam sits up with a smile, impatiently rushing Niall to hurry up and take a hit while Josh rolls up another joint. Zayn doesn’t want to think about how fucked up they’re going to get, because Louis and Niall always bag the strongest shit. But Niall’s arm extends to Liam with the blunt tucked between two of his fingers and Liam looks really fucking excited, so he thinks everything will be okay.

“Me and you can shot-gun, Zayn. If you wanted to, I mean…”

Or not.

Zayn shakes his head no, and he hates that his brain already feels a little too heavy in his skull. But Liam’s moving closer, eating up the minimal distance that was between them and his eyes are closed and he’s inhaling deeply before tossing the roach in the grass.

No, no, no. This is not supposed to happen. Zayn is not high enough for this shit. They’ve done this before, so much so that Zayn can’t even count all of the occurrences on both hands. But Liam had been drunk or high and so not sober, and Zayn had shared the state of almost-unconsciousness and it was _good_. Liam will no doubt remember this in the morning and it will forever be the bane of Zayn’s existence. Not to mention the annoying look on Louis’ face will never, _ever_ go away.

“Open up, babe,” Liam breathes when his face is in front of Zayn’s, little puffs of smoke escaping before Liam’s hand come up to Zayn’s face and tugs lightly on his chin, parting his mouth and sealing their lips together.

Liam’s lips are soft, they’re always fucking soft, but Zayn doesn’t have time to concentrate on that, because Liam’s breathing smoke into his mouth and his tongue is swiping across Zayn’s bottom lip. And Zayn’s on fire. His skin is heated and the chemicals in his brain are creating a paradox of sensations; making everything fuzzy and then shocking him with absolute clarity.

Liam’s hand is on his neck and Zayn’s fingers are dipping into the grooves of Liam’s collarbone and pushing slightly, dividing them enough for Zayn to allow the residing smoke to exit the corners of his mouth. Zayn doesn’t open his eyes, not yet. He can hear the catcalls and annoying whoops of his friends, but it’s muted. All he can hear is the blood rushing to his head and Liam’s breathing on his face.

Zayn squeezes his eyes closed, hoping that when he opens them this will all be a dream, because regardless of Louis’ laughter, this isn’t funny. Not to Zayn. This isn’t a joke and it fucking hurts and he doesn’t think if Louis knew the extent of his feelings for Liam, he would be getting such a fucking kick out of this.

And it’s in that moment that Zayn _knows_ Liam doesn’t know. He can’t know, for the fact that he’s not that cruel. Liam will kiss Zayn anywhere on his body; his neck, his chin, his forehead, his nose, his arm, but never his lips. It’s off limits and fuck, he knows that. It’s an unspoken rule that Liam just broke and it makes the hair on Zayn’s arms rise and the pain in his chest intensify.

So he puts on a mask. “Get the hell off me, you giant.”

He’s careful not to shove Liam, because he doesn’t want to have to get his period and talk about feelings in the morning, should Liam get offended. But he makes his point by guiding Liam back with his palms on his chest and when he has enough room, he stands.

“Don’t let him get too fucked up,” he says, looking back at Louis and averting his eyes from Liam’s gaze. He sees his cup sitting forgotten in the grass, but he doesn’t feel like going back over to pick it up. “’M going to find Harry and see if he wants to do shots. You guys have fun.”

Liam’s talking to Niall now, taking a hint and not trying to gain Zayn’s attention anymore. Zayn’s legs take him to the door and he looks back one more time. Louis staring at him with a frown, like he didn’t start this shit and manage to put another hole in Zayn’s heart in the process. Whatever, he didn’t mean it. Zayn knows he meant well.

Still, Zayn gives him the finger, because Louis can be a real asshole sometimes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for comments and every one you leave me means the world. Tell me what'cha think! :D


	3. echoes of angels who won't return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this one! I promise Liam and Zayn will get together soon, I promise! 
> 
> There's more Ed in here, and some parts with Zayn's sisters. It's also super long, because I couldn't find anything to cut out. That's probably also why it took so long, oops. :D
> 
> Have a great read, and leave me a comment! I love reading what you guys are thinking; good or bad!

Zayn does find Harry, but he doesn’t ask him to take shots. He just sort of waves and directs Harry to the backyard when he asks if he’s seen Lou. Zayn slugs Harry in the arm and tells him to pass it on to Louis. He yelps and scampers off and Zayn feels a little better already. Eleanor spots him and raises her eyebrows at his violent streak towards Harry, but doesn’t push when he explains that Louis is a dick and Harry’s going to have to get used to taking the brunt of Louis’ consequences from now on.   

Plus, Zayn knows if he hits Harry instead of Louis, he won’t get a black eye for his troubles.

“You look a little down,” Eleanor says, handing him a drink she swiped from some girl on their way to the living room. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

The hurt in her eyes was enough for Zayn not to ask questions as she lead him to the weird crowding of people in Harry’s living room that were dancing to the music coming from Niall’s sound system. He saw her gaze flicker several times to a place behind him, and when he looked, he saw Mitch, who had apparently come inside, and he was sucking face with some girl who wasn’t Eleanor.

“Don’t say anything,” she says, and it makes his heart hurt a little, so he pulls her in for a hug.

Their drinks slosh over the sides of their cups, but Zayn can’t bring himself to give a fuck. Harry’s mum has a really fucking ugly carpet anyway; he’s doing her a favor by staining it. Hopefully she’ll throw the damned thing out.

Eleanor keeps her arms wrapped around his back for the duration of a song before she pulls away and chugs the remainder of her drink, snatching Zayn’s from his hand and bringing it to his lips, making him do the same. “I have no freaking clue what you’re sad about, but get over it.”

He scoffs and tosses their empty cups on the nearest end table. “I’m not sad at all. I’m a little high, but that’s about it.”

“Bullshit, don’t lie.” There are a lot of people in the room, but Eleanor manages to squeeze them in with enough room to dance around. Not that Zayn does much dancing besides swaying back and forth. “I know your sad face, and you’ve got it on right now. I can almost guarantee you it’s about Liam, but _fuck it_. The only way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

She sounds so sure of herself, but the slur in her words make Zayn laugh just a little.

“I don’t know if I should chalk this up to your slutty ways or you being a good friend.”

El shrugs and flips her hair about to the glorious vocal notes of Beyonce. “Either one. As long as one of them gets you and me out of these fucking cranky moods we’ve been having, I don’t care.”

“Thanks El, love you too.”

And if he glares at her, it goes unnoticed, because she’s writhing against Zayn and whatever innocent bystander she can pull in. And he can tell that her intentions are going towards besting whatever moves Mitch is making in the background. Zayn’s not fucking cranky, he’s just… stressed. Yeah, he’s stressed.

And if he accepts a few more drinks than he had originally planned, that’s only because liquor is the only thing helping him forget the feel of Liam’s lips on his own.

Totally justified.

**/////**

That’s how Zayn ends up with Eleanor and Niall on Harry’s coffee table.

Niall had come in from outside a while ago, and it was well into the night by the time he slipped Zayn a blue tablet and knocked back three more shots of whatever amber liquid was sitting around the liquor cabinet. Zayn was the victim of conversation several times by a couple of Harry’s buddies. Eleanor swore a guy named Justin was giving him the eye, but Zayn didn’t see it, and even if he did he wouldn’t have acted on anything.

Despite El’s ridiculous fucking pep talk earlier, Zayn didn’t want to waste his worries away with another body beneath his, even if his ex Danny was looking really fucking good tonight. Zayn would settle for a drink and another joint. He spotted the curly mess of Danielle’s hair a few times, and it said a lot for his restraint that he didn’t throw a fit on sight of her. Maybe he was imagining it, but he could feel the effects of whatever Niall had given him liven up his senses. And he felt friggin’ fantastic. Too fantastic to be bothered by Liam’s exes or his own.

Niall was on Zayn’s back, yelling and hollering, and if was giving Zayn a headache, he could foresee the neighbor’s complaints they would have to deal with in the morning. Zayn thanked god that Harry’s mum had sturdy taste in furniture as he stepped on the top with Niall on his back and Eleanor on his arm. There was a clear bottle of alcohol slipping in and out of El’s hand as she alternated between dancing, drinking and trying to steal the hat off of Niall’s head.

Zayn was going to deny the fact that he was a music guru, and his slow and old-fashioned taste in music was temporarily being forgotten for the likes of Katy Perry and some guy named Flo Rida. If anyone happened to bring it up on Monday at school, Zayn very well intended to play dumb.

“What the hell are you guys doing?!” Zayn thought that might be Louis, hence his voice being the only one able to carry above the noise of the party. Zayn wiggled his butt a little and then adjusted Niall on his back before letting Eleanor pour a drink down his throat. “Zayn, get off the fucking table! You’re gonna bloody break it, fat ass!”

Zayn can’t free his hand up to give Louis the one finger salute without dropping Niall, so he settles for turning around and sticking his tongue out childishly. He shouldn’t have done that, though, because Liam is with Louis and Zayn’s not sure if things are going to be awkward between them since Liam tried sticking _his_ tongue down Zayn’s throat like it was nothing. When it most certainly _was_ something.

“Oh, that’s mature,” Louis says, elbowing his way through a group of girls and plucking Eleanor from the table, setting her down on her feet. Bless her little fucked up soul, because it doesn’t phase her one bit. “Zayn, if I have to pick you up, too, I’m peeing in your boots.”

“The new ones?”

‘Cause if it’s not the new ones, Zayn really doesn’t care.

“Yes, the new ones.” Louis ducks when Niall throws his hat at him and tells him to stop _being a party pooper,_ and Louis sends Zayn a glare that scares the fear of god into him when he laughs. “ _God,_ you’re all children.”

Zayn’s laughing hysterically, for reasons he can’t put his finger on. Maybe because Niall is laughing with him, or maybe because the face Louis makes when Eleanor slips past him and climbs back up on the table is priceless. It might be the drugs, or the way Liam’s looking at him— _which is kind of like a drug itself—_ like he doesn’t know Zayn can see him, but the way he feels fails in comparison to anything else he can think of at the moment, which isn’t a lot, but whatever.

He should have seen that this was a recipe for disaster when Eleanor tips the bottle back a little too far and some liquid dribbles onto the table top, causing Zayn’s footing to slip a bit. Niall’s grip around his neck is choking and Zayn can see the panic in El’s eyes before he tumbles off the table and plummets sideways on the couch.

Zayn’s ready to go, already at his feet and reaching out to pull Niall up along with him. There’s a distant throbbing in his shoulder, but it’s not pertinent enough to distract him from his goal of continuous partying. Niall is being dragged off by the girl Zayn vaguely recalls chatting him up earlier. Zayn shrugs and turns to seek out Eleanor, whose still standing and having the time of her life. She reaches out her hand to help Zayn up, but he’s being pulled backwards suddenly.

He frowns and turns around, seeing a neck he can only distinguish as Liam’s because of the heart-shaped birthmark Zayn’s spent too many fucking hours trying not to memorize.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” he says into Zayn’s ear, letting him swipe the bottle from Eleanor before he’s carried in a corner to calm down. Or at least that’s what Liam vocalizes to him.

Zayn doesn’t think he _needs_ to calm down, but it’s hard to fight the craving to have Liam’s arms around him with his brain swimming with too-slow and too-fast thoughts—so much so that he goes willingly, forgetting that things are supposed to be fucked up between them.

“Thanks _mom,_ ” Zayn says, taking the bitterness out of his voice at the last second and smiling up at Liam. Fuck, he’s so goddamn beautiful. “I thought this was a party. That’s what I was doing, partying. Can’t handle me, Payne?”

Now that Zayn stops and looks at Liam, he doesn’t see how he has much of a clearer head than him. His eyes are flared with a blood-shot redness that promises Zayn this will be a hole in Liam’s memory by the time he wakes up in between Zayn’s bed sheets tomorrow afternoon. Assuming Zayn can coerce him down the street and into his doorstep, away from the prying eyes of Louis and Eleanor and the girls in the corner raking the smooth planes on Liam’s body over in a way that can only be described as hunger.

“You don’t think I can handle you?” Liam asks with his arms still around Zayn’s middle, his stupidly big hands rubbing circles on the small of his back, making him dizzy with his movements and his smile, or smirk. Because Liam is fucking smirking and that’s something that he’s definitely taking note of. “You wanna make a bet on that?”

And Zayn doesn’t want to make a bet on _anything,_ but he is eager to let the tension that only seems to be lingering on his end evaporate. So he smiles at Liam, and he pushes him back to the center of the living room. Liam’s hips start swinging in an inviting way to the rhythm of the beat thrumming through the house, but no matter how drunk Zayn is, he’s not slotting into those hips himself, because that’s a really shitty idea. Instead, his fingers wrap around Eleanor’s wrist and he pulls her in between them, pushing her in Liam’s direction, leaving Zayn a safe distance from Liam’s hands and hips and heart.

It’s like a game of hot potato with El in the middle of them; she takes turns slithering against Liam and prancing in Zayn’s direction to steal back her bottle of flavored booze.

Liam laughs and talks over the music. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when you drug me out here,” he says to Zayn over the noise. “You sure you don’t want to dance?” He flushes when he realizes what he just said, and he hurries to correct himself. Zayn thinks it’s fucking adorable. “Just me and you, I mean. If you wanted.”

And it reminds Zayn too much of the way Liam asked for his consent before he pressed his lips onto Zayn’s and the memory makes him immediately shake his head in declination.

“There are a million girls here for you to dance with,” he shouts, because that’s the only way Liam can hear him now that someone turned the music up even louder. “Take your pick, mate! Or you could snag a guy if you want! Harry invited his Uni buddies!”

Liam’s nose wrinkles at the prospect and he moves Eleanor to the side to get closer to Zayn. “I don’t want to fuck a guy who’s going to ask me how I like my Starbuck’s in the morning.”

Whoa, whoa, _whoa._ Who said anything about fucking? Zayn knows for a fact those weren’t the line up of words that came out of his mouth.

“You don’t have to screw someone just because you dance with them, Liam,” he says, quieter this time, because Liam’s mysteriously closer than he was before, head dipping down to have a conversation without either of them having to yell. “If that was the case, I would have slept with Eleanor and Niall time and time again, and Louis too. And I don’t think Harry would appreciate that, y’know?”

Zayn dancing and trying to further distance himself from Liam’s grabby hands under the guise of some awkward shuffling. But Liam’s fingers bite into his hips and still him, so he can lean in to talk directly into Zayn’s ear. Handsy bastard. “If that were the case, you’d have to sleep with me, too.”

Zayn debates punching him in the throat or kissing him square on the mouth. He votes for neither and just laughs it off, trying not to dig harsh words into Liam’s skin that will make him just let _the fuck go,_ so Zayn can go sneak another pill from Niall and walk down the street to his house.

“And we both know that’ll never happen,” Zayn says, laughing. Because when Liam gets drunk he gets in love. And if Zayn was any less smart, he would let Liam’s hands wander farther than they usually did, he would let Liam whisper suggestive things in his ear and let his lips guide themselves to places that crossed a line into a whole new territory for the both of them. “So you can dance over here, and I’ll go fuck around over there.”

He would do all of that if he didn’t know Liam would kiss him on the forehead in the morning and call him his _best friend,_ like none of it ever happened. He would let Liam suck kisses into his throat right now if Liam had those same intense eyes for Zayn without a beer in one hand and a joint in the other. It was a temporary romance that Zayn didn’t have the stones to deal with, so he laughed Liam off and pushed him in the direction of a group of giggling girls, not noticing until it was too late that the one girl Zayn never wanted Liam to touch was thrashing around in said group.

“You want to dance,” she slurs, big curls bouncing around her face while her and some other chick from Zayn’s Trig class put their hands on Liam’s body like anyone gave them fucking permission. “You were always such a good dancer, Liam.”

Which is total bullshit, because until Liam joined the swim team, he didn’t know how to move his hips to save his life. And all Danielle is feeding Liam is a line. One that she knows will bring a smile to his face and boost his drunken confidence.

Zayn hates how Liam looks at him like he’s seeking permission. Like Zayn has any say over what he does or who he fucking dances with. Which, okay, Zayn _will_ be pissed if he has to watch Danielle writhe all over Liam, and they’ll probably argue about it when they’re both sober, but right now he’s trying not to care. So he shrugs and Liam mimics his nonchalance as his ex sidles her way to his front and they both move against the beat to some dumb Miguel song that makes Zayn’s stomach churn.

It looks innocent from where he’s standing, moving his own body to the sensual beat and allowing himself to get lost in the sea of bodies around him, not taking a claim to anyone really, just dancing by himself. Liam’s hands stay high on Danielle’s back and her hands don’t move from his shoulders. But Liam’s eyes also stay trained on him, looking over Danielle’s shoulder and almost daring Zayn to stop him or challenge him or what the fuck ever.  

And his lips form a smirk that Zayn doesn’t appreciate one fucking bit; not because it looks out of place on Liam’s pure features, but because who the fuck does the think he is? Is Zayn supposed to be jealous? Is Liam dancing with a girl that broke his heart into a million fucking pieces supposed to hurt _him,_ instead of the boy in question?

Zayn scoffs, yeah fucking right.

Later, when he’s the drinks and drugs aren’t clouding his judgment, he’ll realize how stupid he’s being by yanking the neck of his shirt down to reveal his inked collarbones and ruffling his hair into a style that says _fuck me_ as he walks up to Danny Riach and drags him out to the living room. It’s wrong how much he and Danny are attracted to each other, and it’s wrong of Zayn to use that to his advantage as he puts his back to Liam and smiles up at Danny.

Danny’s always been possessive and handsy and fucking annoying, but Zayn revels in it now. Because he’s the exact opposite of Liam in all areas and Zayn doesn’t feel bad when he lets Danny’s smarmy grin interest something below his belt. Zayn’s not looking for love or lust or any stupid pansy emotion. He’s looking for revenge and a good time and all the things he can’t get from Liam, because he doesn’t have to worry about losing Danny like he would Liam if Zayn just uses him for a convenient time.

“You playing an angle here, Zed?” Danny whispers the question into his ear, and Zayn has to fight to open his eyes to respond.

“I’m just trying to fucking dance, man.”

He hopes his ex-boyfriend will leave it at that. And he really wishes his mind would stop processing Danny as his ex, because that was a long time ago, and Zayn tries every day to forget what a giant mistake that was. Dude didn’t like The Weeknd. Zayn honestly doesn’t see how they stayed together for _any_ period of time.

“I thought you’d be down for it? Or did I read you wrong when you were eye-fucking me over there in the corner with Anthony?” Zayn laughs internally as he watches Danny gulp as Zayn’s hands drag from his shoulders down to his waist, jerking his hips forward into Zayn’s. “We can stop if you want.”

“No!” He shouts, a little too loud and a lot too eager. And Zayn has to laugh out loud then, because he’s always had Danny wrapped around his finger. “It’s cool,” he says, moving his hips back and forth with Zayn’s and pressing his interest into Zayn’s thigh. “I was just wondering how Liam was going to feel about it.”

Why the hell do people think that Liam has a say so in what he does? Why _does_ Liam have a say so in what he does? And vice versa.

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, bringing Danny’s tall ass down to his height so he can speak directly in his ear without yelling. “But if you ask me about Liam again tonight, I’m ditching you for Perrie.”

“The girl with the purple hair?”

“It’s pink now, and yes.” Zayn fingernails scratch at the back of Danny’s head, and he hisses at the pain. Zayn smiles. “And along with being unique as fuck, she doesn’t ask questions about things that are none of her business. We cool, man?”

“Definitely.”

Finally he gets with the program and keeps his mouth shut, just like Zayn prefers him. And Zayn doesn’t look over his shoulder to see if Liam’s still there, or if he’s seeing Zayn do perfectly fine without him and his wandering hands and distrustfully angelic eyes. Okay, so maybe he does, but sue him. He’s not dancing with fucking _Danny_ and letting him slither his hands all over Zayn’s back and neck and shoulder blades if it’s not making a point to Liam. A point that says Zayn can do whatever he wants and so can Liam and they can both be perfectly fine with that.

If that’s childish, well, Zayn grew up with Louis Tomlinson, so childish is practically his middle name by now.

What throws him off is how receptive Danny is being, how far he’s running with Zayn’s little charade. And he almost feels bad, almost. If Danny wouldn’t have cheated on him all those years ago with some guy in his Shop class, Zayn would put a stop to this right now, because he doesn’t want to give Danny the wrong idea. The idea that this is for anything other than a couple hours of fun. But Danny did do that, and if he wants to talk into Zayn’s neck, tell him how much he missed him and how sorry he is, well fuck it, Zayn will let him.

The kissing is new though.

No one besides Liam has kissed Zayn’s neck in a long time, and for good reason. That’s like Liam’s spot. It’s where he goes for forgiveness and acceptance and just to give Zayn a friendly stupid kiss because Liam likes to confuse the shit out of him. Zayn doesn’t like people being that close to him. The neck is an intimate place or something weird like that. (Louis told him so when they were watching LMN together, stoned. Zayn just rolls with it.) And having Danny whisper and slobber all over him is something he definitely has to take with a grain of salt.

Or else his clavicle is going to end up crunching under the pressure of Zayn’s fist.

“Hey, watch the fuck out,” he has to stutter when he can feel teeth, which is not cool, because there’s no way he’s hiding a hickey from his boss or his mom. Or Louis. “No biting, dude.”

He hums into Zayn’s throat, like he’s going to back up, but he doesn’t, and Zayn’s too drunk to deal with the aftermath of Danny’s feelings, should he upset him, so he lets it happen. He can tell Ed and Louis to fuck off. His mom… he’ll figure something out.

Only that’s not the way it goes at all.

One second Zayn is thoroughly not enjoying Danny’s hands and mouth all over him, and the next he’s being pulled backwards into an expansive chest and— _what the hell is going on?_ Zayn doesn’t have time to think, only gravitates toward Danny because he’ll be damned if he gets caught in the middle of one of those cliché dance floor brawls he’s seen in those dumb Step Up films Niall made him watch all the time. No, Zayn wasn’t that type of guy, and as much as he didn’t like his ex biting into his neck, claiming something that didn’t belong to him, he didn’t feel like getting dragged away or beaten up.

Only Danny’s either a pussy or the guy who has their hands on Zayn’s hips is a fucking champ, because through lidded eyes Zayn sees Danny shoot a pointed glare at him before he glances back apologetically at whomever the hell is behind Zayn. He kind of wonders if Liam is seeing all this, and it irritates him that he sort of hopes Liam _does_ see this; people wanting Zayn like he’s supposed to be wanted.

People not trying to stick him in the freaking _friend zone._ Zayn hates that term almost as much as he hates the show that MTV made out of it. No matter if Eleanor suggests otherwise when Zayn asks to watch it. He only does flips it to that station because there’s nothing else on, okay? Okay.

“What? He can touch you but I can’t?” The words are almost too slurred for Zayn to understand, almost. But Zayn’s eyes had fallen shut again and it was easier for him to concentrate on the sounds and sensations of his surroundings.

Zayn is just about to turn around and ask what the fuck this guy’s problem is, but then he kisses Zayn’s neck, in the exact same spot that Danny just vacated and it all makes sense in his foggy brain.

“Liam?”

Zayn tries to turn, but Liam’s fingers flex on his hips and steady him, keeping him in place. “Why’d you let him do it?” He asks into Zayn’s neck, the weight and relevance of the words not registering in Zayn’s brain just yet.

Liam’s hands feel familiar now, from what little Zayn can feel with everything else coursing through him. Zayn can already feel the bruise blooming under Liam’s fingertips, and he’s not sure if he’s looking forward to seeing them in the morning or not, but they’re going to be there. Because Liam’s grip on Zayn is tight, and it’s almost annoyingly symbolic to the other hold Liam has on Zayn; the one on his heart or soul or something dumb and romantic like that.

“Why’d I let him do what?” He thinks Liam is talking about Danny, but he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about anything right now, except Liam’s hands on his hips and his mouth on his neck. “Liam, babe, you’re drunk.”

Zayn’s bitten in the form of a reprimand, for what he has no clue.

“I’m not drunk enough to see your ex with his hands all over you.” Liam’s tracing a line up Zayn’s torso, like he’s trying to cover up all the touches Danny placed on Zayn’s stomach and back and thighs and it feels _so wrong,_ but so good at the same time; enough so that he doesn’t have the heart to tell Liam to back the fuck off. “You should have seen him; just touching you. _Kissing you._ ”

To emphasize his point, Liam’s mouth becomes hot on Zayn’s nape, and Zayn doesn’t know if he was sweating because of the tension in his bones at the restraint he’s putting on himself to not turn around and try to fuck Liam out of his clothes, or because Louis invited too many goddamn people.

But then he gets mad. Zayn gets mad because Liam is mad. And he can’t even deny it, because Zayn knows Liam, and he knows that the harsh hold on his waist and the unkind teeth on his neck are Liam’s way of taking his anger out on Zayn in the only way he knows how; with touch. Liam’s just as bad as Zayn is at saying what’s on his mind, and as aggravatingly sweet as it usually is when Liam’s nuzzling him or pressing his smile into Zayn’s forehead; right now it’s just annoying.

“Why do you care?”

Liam is not amused with Zayn’s tone, but he’s not Zayn’s dad or any figure of authority, so if Zayn wants to be a little shit, he can.

“I don’t,” he says and Zayn doesn’t know what it means that he can hear the lie in Liam’s drunken words.

He won’t let himself pretend that Liam’s jealous because he wants Zayn for himself. No, he’s not that stupid. But he wishes Liam would just say he’s jealous because he doesn’t like sharing Zayn with anyone else. He wants to be Zayn’s number one, and _he is,_ but sometimes he doesn’t see it. Or maybe Liam’s mad because Zayn is dancing with someone who broke his heart. Which would make no sense, and if Zayn finds out that’s the reason, he’s punching Liam in the ribs because that’s _hypocritical as fuck._

“Then I don’t really see what the problem is? You can go dance with your Danni, and I’ll go dance with mine.” Zayn prays Liam can’t see the smug smile on his face when he makes a move to step forward or the even smugger smirk that plays over his lips when Liam jerks Zayn’s body back to his. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

“So he’s yours, is he? Again?”

Zayn’s gone still, content to just lounge in his rightful spot. One that doesn’t belong to Danielle or Andy or any other girl or guy Liam can get his hands on because he earned this spot. Zayn earned the right to recline his body into Liam’s when he let Liam cry on his shoulder and stay over at his house and sleep in his bed. Zayn actually earned a whole hell of a lot more than a friendly freaking embrace, but he would settle with this for now.

“I didn’t hear you protesting when I said Danielle was yours, so…”

Zayn only says these things; the things that he knows will egg Liam on because he knows it’s temporary. He can rile him up and wind him back down in the same amount of time. And Liam will never remember this conversation in the morning. Zayn’s not certain if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Zayn _will_ have to remember.

“Baby…” Liam stops swaying them and his face comes out from Zayn’s neck so he can dip to land a kiss at his spine. “I told you she was just a friend. We’re staying friends, Zayn. And you’re the one that told me to dance with her. I was having a good time; I just came over to help _you_ out.”

Danny’s mark is re-covered by Liam’s lips once more and Zayn can’t bring himself to fight it. It really pisses him off that he enjoys it so much.

Liam’s statement turns from endearing to accusatory and it makes Zayn’s hands twitch to turn around and tug him into a kiss and slap him in the next instant. He wants to scream at Liam that it was an _accident_ that he sent Liam in Danielle’s direction and that Liam never once said that he and she would only be just friends, and it’s not fair that she might get a second chance when Zayn can’t even get a first.

He fights Liam’s panicked hands and assures him that he’s just turning around. Once he’s face to face with him, his mind tries to re-catalog every thing about drunk!Liam that he loves. The pouting face and the hooded eyes. The lowered inhibitions and the slurred words. How his hands travel and his eyes linger too long. But Zayn has to remember that it’s not him that these effects apply to. Liam’s hands stay a roam a bit too far and his eyes rest in one place for a beat too long for everyone, not just Zayn. It’s an action that has Harry jealous when Liam and Louis get drunk together. And one that makes Zayn’s skin tingle when it’s focused on him and tighten when it’s directed at someone else.

“Well if you were having such a great time, don’t let me stop you.”

Liam chuckles at something, probably because he can see right through Zayn’s jealousy, but he can’t see how that’s fucking funny. Zayn lifts his hand from where he previously laid it on Liam’s chest when he turned around in the circle of his hands, and he punches him in the shoulder just because he can.

“Babe, just dance with me, you’re being ridiculous.” He tries to lean forward to smother his smooth laughter into Zayn’s shoulder, but Zayn finally musters up enough energy to back away.

Because what’s ridiculous is that he lets himself enjoy this whenever Liam gets drunk, and what’s ridiculous is that he holds on to a shred of hope every time Liam’s guard is down and he acts like he wants something from Zayn and it’s ridiculous that he can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t anymore, so he’s done. So done.

Zayn groans as his lower stomach lurches, telling Zayn that the liquor has gone straight through him and he needs to empty out his bladder before he stumbles his way down the sidewalk to his house. Zayn’s had enough of the party life to last him for the rest of the semester at this point. Parties were fucking stupid anyway.

“I don’t want to dance, Liam,” he mumbles, trying to split and find his way to the bathroom until Liam’s persistent hands make a grab for him again. “Fucking quit, man. I’m serious.”

He doesn’t mean to snap, or maybe he does. Anyways, it happens and Liam looks hurt before he looks angry, and Zayn’s too drunk for this shit, so he just walks away. From Liam and whatever boozed argument they are about to have.

Or he tries to.

“Going to find Danny, huh? Maybe—maybe get a fuck in out back before you leave?” Liam stumbles over his words out of frustration. “ _Real healthy_ relationship, Zayn.”

Zayn doesn’t even dignify that with a response, because Liam means the words coming out of his mouth about as much as the kisses he tapers up and down Zayn’s neck when he’s drinking. Not at all. Plus, he really has to piss.

“You’re piss drunk right now, Li,” he says over his shoulder, deciding _fuck it,_ he’s just going home. He’ll pee when he gets there. “You don’t know what you’re saying, but you’re going to feel like a real ass come tomorrow morning.”

Zayn can barely hear himself think over all of the noise and it’s a headache that he predicts will still be there when he wakes up in bed later on. He tries to block out any words that Liam might be saying, only because he’s entirely full of shit right now and Zayn doesn’t feel like putting up with his fragile feelings and slippery confessions of what the hell is running through his mind.

“How will you know what I’ll feel like tomorrow morning if you won’t even be there?”

Unfortunately Liam is a little too loud and a lot too close for Zayn to temporarily ignore him and his impossibly loud mouth.

“What the hell are you on about now?”

Zayn finally, _finally_ makes it to the front door and he’s never been more happy to see the clutter of tacky flowers in Anne’s yard, because that means he made it to the right door and he’s on the right track to go home. Zayn thinks he spots Niall, and it’s confirmed when he waves him over and Niall trots along willingly, already knowing what Zayn wants, and slipping him a few more pills into his hand before meeting Liam’s eyes and trying to make conversation with the two of them.

Niall and Liam can make all the fucking small talk they want, Zayn is going home.

He doesn’t fail to notice the small frown embedded in Niall’s features when Liam overlooks him and continues to berate and irritate Zayn. “You won’t know if I feel bad or not in the morning, because you’re running off to—”

Zayn has had just about enough of Liam’s preachy, woe-is-me bullshit for tonight.

“If you mention Danny one more fucking time, Liam, _I swear to god._ ” Zayn runs his fingers through his hair out of habit and scratches his scalp a bit too hard, only so he will feel something other than the aggravation settling amongst his skin. “It was one dance, mate. Not even a full one because you came and cock-blocked me in the middle of it!”

Liam furrows his brows and opens his mouth to speak, but Zayn isn’t quite finished, thank you very much, so he’ll have to wait.

“And even if I _was_ going to fuck Danny, it would be _none_ of your business. Because it looked like you and Danielle were about to do the _exact same thing!_ ” Liam jumps at that, his eyes snapping to Zayn’s eyes from where they were concentrated on his mouth, most likely so he could better understand the words Zayn was saying. “If I were just a little more polite, I would have asked you if you needed a condom. Just friends, _my ass,_ Liam!”

Zayn isn’t going to stick around for the sad eyes Liam is about to put on, or the accusing ones Niall will most likely send him because Zayn always ends up being the bad guy where Liam is concerned. He turns on his heel and thanks whatever deity is listening that the drugs have started to clear up a little so he doesn’t make it home completely fucking wasted.

Except Zayn is a weak bastard and his ears stay peeled for Liam’s response. And his heart drops to his stomach when he hears it.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt! I was just going to ask if it was a one-time thing, or if I’d have to chat the lad up until he found someone new to cheat on you with!” Liam must have cupped his hands around his mouth, because his voice gets louder and carries farther. “You know, it’d be my job, with us being _best friends_ and all! Can’t have the mate feeling uncomfortable!”

The words don’t even hurt that bad, if he stops and thinks about it. Which he doesn’t. It’s the intent to hurt that rips him apart in a way that makes him want to curl over in the middle of the street and empty the contents of his stomach. Danny being a dick, _anyone_ being a dick to Zayn in the past doesn’t affect him. He was never really in love with any one of them. He might have thought he was then, but now that he knows what love feels like, now that he _knows_ Liam is the only one he’ll ever love, he knows he was wrong. He knows what love is like now and he says a thankful prayer each night that he’d never experienced it until now.

‘Cause it fucking sucks.

Liam already looks regretful and worried by the time Zayn makes a sharp turn and stomps toward him. _Good,_ he should be sorry and he should be afraid. He should think Zayn is going to hit him seeing as he deserves nothing less. Liam is sobered up by the dark look on his face and what he thinks are tears in Zayn’s eyes. Which they aren’t, because he’s not a fucking _wuss,_ but if Liam wants to think he made Zayn cry, he’s not going to say otherwise. Let him feel like shit.

He’s already muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” by the time Zayn makes the ten short steps over to him. Zayn has a bit of peace of mind knowing Liam is so fucked up he won’t remember shit when the sun rises.

Liam tries to pull him into an apology hug, but Zayn shrugs him off furiously, mad when his body immediately arches into the touch because that’s the ultimate betrayal, man. If you can’t trust your body, who the heck can you trust?

“I love you more than anything. _Anything._ I love you so much that it _hurts_ sometimes because you get drunk and act like this and I don’t _matter_ to you.” Liam’s face is quirked to the side, like he’s trying to make sense of the words Zayn is saying. “If I mattered to you, you wouldn’t say that to me. You wouldn’t call me a worthless slut— _don’t fucking talk while I’m talking_ because that’s exactly what you said.”

Zayn takes Liam’s face in his hands, the small hairs on Liam’s chin and jaw catching the coarseness of Zayn’s palms. “I love you, Liam Payne…” Zayn has to stand a little taller, because Liam has grown like a goddamn beanstalk this last year, and he presses their foreheads together. “But _fuck you_ if you don’t ever love me back.”

_“Zayn—”_

“Take him inside, Niall.” Zayn becomes the older, responsible person he’s supposed be just then. He’s watched out for Liam his whole life and he won’t stop now. Just because Liam doesn’t love Zayn in the way he wants him to love him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love him at all. And maybe he could have worded things better, but oh well. “Make sure _—shit—_ make sure Louis keeps an eye on him until this thing’s over. I’m headed home.”

Liam fights Zayn’s hands where they steer him over to Niall, but he’s drunk and sluggish and he isn’t processing things clearly enough to understand that he hurt Zayn on purpose and they need time apart. Just for the night. That means he needs to go inside and Zayn needs to turn around again and wander down the sidewalk.

“I love you, Zayn. I’m sorry.” Niall gathers up Liam’s lively limbs in his arms, and it would be funny if it was any other occasion; Niall’s small body corralling Liam’s long arms and legs inside Harry’s house with a crowd of people around them. “I do love you! I do, Zayn! _I do._ ”

Liam whispers at him and Zayn has to jerk his head away at the last minute before he does something stupid like believe him. It’s the alcohol and the guilt, or maybe the guilt and jealousy that comes with the arrival of an ex. His and Liam’s. And it’s the tension of that stupid shot-gunning nonsense and it’s a mess.

And hopefully Liam’s lack of knowledge of tonight’s events will clean it up, along with Zayn’s reverent denial of any of this ever happening. Liam is his sure thing. He’s something that’s never fucking wavered and Zayn will be damned if he lets something as menial as _feelings_ get in the way.

So he ignores Liam and he covers his ears as he walks the short distance to his house, because he can pick out Liam’s voice from a crowded room, and now that he’s alone, he feels like Liam’s cries are following him everywhere. Down the street. To his porch. In his living room. To his bathroom, and then his bedroom.

It’s not until Zayn has washed the stench of alcohol off of his body and rinsed it from his mouth, that he realizes the voice is in his head, and if he slips another pill under his tongue before he slides into bed and holds his sister close to his chest and cries…

…well that’s his fucking business.

**/////**

“Bubba?”

Zayn is counting sheep or hopping rainbows or something else that means he’s sleeping well, and he shrugs off the hand on his arm.

“Bubba, get up!” Zayn is shaken again and _good god,_ where did this headache come from? “Bubba, _please?”_

He faintly registers that the voice in his ear is Safaa’s and it might be something important, so he should probably get his lazy ass out of bed and he should also probably never try to out-drink Niall ever again in his life. Fucking Irish bastard.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Zayn winces at how coarse his voice sounds and he sends up a silent prayer that he didn’t come in making a lot of noise last night. Shit, he can’t even remember all of last night. Zayn chuckles as he thinks of Liam, who won’t remember any of last night, and he tries to think of any fucked up shit they might have gotten into together. “Bubba’s got a headache, babe. Did you want me to make you breakfast or something? Is mum at work already?”

“No, Mama made me cereal before she went away,” she whispers, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Zayn makes a mental note to brush her hair later on in the morning, or else she won’t do it all day. “It’s Liam, Z. He’s on the front porch.” Her nose scrunches up. “He doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Zayn sits up and stretches, his arms going above his head, and if his little sister wasn’t there he would have let out a slew of cuss words that would have had him dumping his entire paycheck into the swear jar. He blindly feels for some aspirin on his nightstand, but he comes up empty. He’s about to lean over and ask Liam if he brought up the aspirin last night, because Liam is always weirdly responsible like that, but then he remembers Safaa saying something about him being on the porch. That’s weird, seeing as they always crashed _inside_ Zayn’s house after a party.

What the hell?

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, where his youngest sister is waiting patiently on him to get out of bed. Zayn stands up and smiles down at her when she raises her arms in a way that he’s learned to mean she wanted to be carried. He picks her up and sets her on his hip, figuring he might as well go see what the hell Liam is doing outside this early in the morning.

“What’s he doing on the porch, Saf?”

He walks out of his room and checks his parent’s bed on his way onto the living room. They’re already off to work, and he hates that they have to work weekends to support them, but he’ll find something for the girls to do. Zayn won’t ever chastise his parents for working to much. They’re doing it for their kid’s sakes.

Safaa shrugs and plays with the fringe lying flat on Zayn’s forehead. She loves his hair without all that “stuff” in it.

“He’s sleepin’.” She says it like Zayn should know Liam was sleeping, and she tugs his hair in annoyance. “I didn’t want to wake him up ‘cause he looks tired. I gave him a blanket, but I couldn’t get a pillow under his big head.” Zayn laughs at that. “That’s why I needed your help, _silly._ ”

Zayn nods vigorously at her. “Oh, silly me, huh? I should have known you woke me up way early in the morning to lift up LiLi’s giant fu _—big head—_ so you could put a pillow underneath it.”

Zayn takes pride in the fact that he’s trained her well enough to spot sarcasm at such a young age. She scowls at him and pokes his cheek hard—something she picked up from Liam. “No one likes a meanie.”

“Well no one likes getting up early either.” And he sticks his tongue out at her, just to show her who’s more mature in this situation.

If Liam is hung-over and crashed on his porch, Zayn’s not going to be able to get him up the stairs by himself. As much as Liam’s been dragging him to the gym, Zayn doesn’t have the muscles or the desire to carry Liam’s newly acquired body-mass down the hall. Fuck all if swimming and his recently increased running work out didn’t make Zayn wince at the thought of trying to lift him up when he was dead weight. 

Zayn sets Safaa on the ground and raises an eyebrow at her immediate pouting and whimpering. “Don’t start that this morning, Saf. Go in my room and get me my phone off the dresser, okay? I have to call Uncle Lou so we can get Liam’s big butt up.”

“Okay,” she sighs, running back to Zayn’s room as he opens the door to find Liam lying on the other side.

He’s flat on his stomach, and Zayn wishes he could remember anything other than that shot-gunning thing, because Liam looks like he got seriously messed up last night. There’s a sharp pain in his neck to go along with the one in his head when he leans over to shake Liam awake. He prods at the spot and tries in vein to recall anyone leaving any ginormous hickeys on him during the night. His brain provides him with Danny, his ex and he hangs his head in his hands at the screwed up decision while he waits for Liam to get up.

“Wake the fuck up,” he says, shaking Liam twice more when he doesn’t even stir. “I am not carrying you to my room by myself and you’re not driving home hung-over.” 

Zayn has to fully get on the ground where Liam’s limbs are all sprawled out, his face eating concrete and his body tucked under Safaa’s favorite Dora the Explorer blanket. It’s a testament to how much she loves Liam that she let him use it, let alone brought it outside where it could get dirty or infested with ants that were sure to make their way over to Liam at any moment.

“Liam Payne, I swear to _—unf—_ ” He can’t say much more, because without even opening his eyes, Liam is tugging him all the way down near him, tucking Zayn under his arm without reservations about his wellbeing, because this isn’t fucking safe. And concrete isn’t a cure for a hangover.

“You’re makin’ too much nose,” he says. Zayn thinks he meant to say noise, but he doesn’t comment. “’M head hurts. _Shh, Zaynie._ ” 

If Liam were anyone else, he would have gotten a fist to the face, or at least a nipple pinch for calling him Zaynie this early in the morning. Also for making him scrape his elbow when he hauled him to the ground like Zayn was just a thing that could just be rearranged whenever he damn well pleased. He wasn’t.

“This is my porch you’re sleeping on, idiot.” Liam’s face is awful close to Zayn’s where they’re both lying on the floor, but the sun is too bright and Zayn is too tired to over-analyze that. “Get up and go inside the house. Our neighbors are going to think we’re heathens with you crashing on the doorstep all night.”

“We are heaf—heat— _heathens,_ ” he mumbles into the ground. “Or you are. You’re a wild one, Malik. Wild.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and tries to get up. He rolls his eyes even harder when Liam makes a whimpering noise strangely akin to the one his little sister made just a bit ago. He’s a child, Zayn swears.

“That’s it then,” he says, rolling out from underneath Liam’s fucking heavy arm. “I’m calling in reinforcements.”

Safaa opens the door then and trots out to bring Zayn his phone, bending down and smothering Liam’s face with kisses on her way, making him giggle and kiss her forehead in greeting.

Zayn frowns. He wants good-fucking-morning kisses.

“Liam, if you don’t get your ass up, I’m calling Louis.” Safaa glares at him for cursing and he promises to put a dollar in the swear jar later, but he has to get his big lug of a best friend off the porch first. “And he’ll come over here with coffee and scones and a shit ton of crappy music that he played at the party last night. I don’t know what you’re hangover is feeling like, but I’m sure Destiny’s Child will make it feel _tons_ better.”

Safaa pulls on Zayn’s pants leg. “Who’s Destiny’s Child, Z?”

Zayn finally checks his phone, the green flashing light irritating him combined with the chill of the morning and the throbbing pressing into his skull. He has eighteen unread texts and more missed calls than he feels like dealing with, so he plans to check his messages first. Zayn also kicks Liam while he does so, because Liam is still being lazy, and if Zayn has to get up and be coherent, so does Liam.

A beat too long later, Liam answers Safaa’s question, eyes still fucking closed. Lazy ass. “Destiny’s Child is someone your bubba likes to threaten me with when we’ve had a little too much fun the night before.”

At least he seems to be speaking a lot clearer now, and that’s a godsend. Zayn has enough trouble trying to decipher what Liam’s saying when he’s sober. It’s not exactly a walk in the park when the pair of them has knocked back a few shots the previous night. A night which Zayn really wishes he could remember the entirety of, instead of bits and freaking pieces.

“When Mama gets mad at Pop she always says he’s not getting any.” Zayn chokes on air and Liam giggles into the ground like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, only encouraging Safaa to carry on when she thinks she’s amused him. “I don’t know what he’s not getting but it makes him do better. Mama always tells him good job, like she does when Boris does tricks in the yard. It’s _real_ funny—”

“Okay, okay,” Zayn says, picking his sister up and carrying her across the threshold of the open door, almost dropping his phone and busting his ass over Liam’s still body. “That’s enough excitement for you today. Liam, get the fu—get up. I’m running Saf a bath and you better be asleep in my room when I get done. Or I’m—”

“Or you’re calling Lou,” he mocks. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, I’m getting up.” He sits up and Zayn pulls a face at how bad his back pops when he moves. That looks fucking painful. “I’ve got to check my phone anyway. I think I threw it somewhere in the yard last night.”

“You did,” Safaa supplies. “Mama found it in the grass this morning. I put it in Bubba’s room, LiLi.”

“Thanks baby girl.”

She smiles at him and makes grabby hands when Liam stands up with her blanket around his shoulders. Zayn assumes she just wants her blanket back, but apparently Liam understands his sister more than he does these days and he scoops her from Zayn’s arms and moves around him and into the house. He pecks Zayn’s cheek on his way in and Zayn yells at him that he can run a bath for Safaa since he’s the damn favorite now.

Safaa’s smile widens over Liam’s shoulder and she looks like a crazy woman with her hair all wild and her lack of a good bathing obvious in the smears of chocolate milk on her face. She rubs her fingers together at him, and points to the Curse Jar on her way down the hall with Liam. She’s fucking evil, he thinks. And money hungry as a son of a bitch.

Definitely raised by him and Louis.

Zayn crashes on the couch and unlocks his phone screen once more, now that he doesn’t have to worry about The Dynamic Duo questioning his sanity. He’s not surprised when all of them are from Eleanor. She’s a drunk texter. And he can bet all the money he has to put in that damn jar that all his missed calls are from her, too. She’s also a drunk dialer.

**_why r u dancing with danny? ew can do so much better_ **

Fuck her, he’s not ugly. And he’s a hell of a lot better looking that Mitch Donovan, that’s for sure.

**_liam is going 2 kill him_ **

**_he looks murderus_ **

**_did i spell that rite???_ **

Zayn doesn’t know why she’s concerned with spelling things right, considering her usual texting dialogue consists of numbers and annoying abbreviations. And why would Liam want to murder Danny? Yeah, he cheated on Zayn, but all he can remember doing is dancing. He sure as hell didn’t try to rekindle the old flame. Dude doesn’t like the _Weeknd._

**_tell liam nice hicky work thats going 2 bruis_ **

Who the hell is Liam giving hickeys to? Zayn knows it wasn’t him, and it better not have been Danielle. If it was Danielle, he’s sending out an attack squad. One consisting on El and Louis and maybe his big sister Doniya, because she’s always down for a fight. But that’s mean and that’s a really big if. Also, he’ll kill Liam. In his sleep. That’s really the worst betrayal; killing someone while they’re resting. Zayn thinks he just might if Liam is running around giving Danielle hickeys.

**_HIS DICK IS PRACTICALLY IN YOUR ASS OMG ITS ALMOST OVER THE DROUGHT IT ALMOST OVER_ **

Whose dick is in Zayn’s ass? He specifically doesn’t remember any dicks in his ass last night. That should actually scare him a lot more than it does. Zayn’s not a party animal, well, not anymore, but he thinks whatever might have happened last night was all in good fun.

**_y r u leaving??? i was watching that bring it back_ **

**_where did u go bby_ **

**_y is liam dancing w danelle again_ **

**_*danielle_ **

**_WHY IS LIAM LEAVING W HER_ **

**_ZAYN Y R U NOT STOPPING THIS_ **

**_ZAYN???_ **

**_BBY COME BACK_ **

**_U SUCK_ **

**_I ATE YOU BYE_ **

**_*HATE_ **

And then there’s one last message, from Louis:

**_ignore nething el says k_ **

And that is all just really fucking weird. In the end, he has more questions going through his inbox than he does answers and that doesn’t sit well with him at all. Zayn knows Liam won’t remember a damn thing, and Niall is most likely still asleep if it’s before three in the afternoon on a Saturday. Especially after a party. He could go back to Harry’s but he doesn’t much fancy being bribed into cleaning up with Louis when he gets there.

So Liam it is.

He knows Liam is running bathwater for Safaa, and she’s probably talking his ear off while she waits for the water to get warm, so he’ll wait in his room. He needs to go pick up Waliyha some time during the day, but she’s at a friend’s house, so she’ll want to stay late anyway. When he checks his alarm clock, it’s not even ten and he silently curses his sister for getting him up before noon.

He’s about to dive into bed when he sees Liam’s phone flashing like his was earlier. It’s wrong, but the thought does pass through his head. If Liam’s phone was getting blown up just like Zayn’s, maybe there were answers on there that he wasn’t getting sent to his own phone. Plus, it’s not like Liam would be hiding anything, would he?

Zayn laughs, it’s Liam for crying out loud. He doesn’t even look up porn on his phone. Zayn scrunches his brow. Or at all, for that matter. Liam’s phone is safe enough for Zayn to check his messages without fear of stumbling upon something incriminating.

Or at last that’s what he tells himself so he doesn’t feel like shit when he picks it up and slides the lock open with his thumb.

**_get off my bff_ **

Zayn must have danced with Liam last night, because that text is from Eleanor. Unless Liam danced with Niall, which isn’t that out of character for Liam because he was drunk, and Niall because he was…Niall. Get enough liquor in Liam and he’ll make moves on anything. That’s partially why Zayn thinks Liam was drunk for his entire relationship with Danielle, but that’s another subject for another day.

**_hickeys r trashy but dam u n zayni look gud_ **

Confirmation on the hickey. Or more of Eleanor’s drunk delusions. The second one sounds more pliable than the first, if he’s brutally honest. ‘Cause it’s really uncomfortable to think that Zayn was gone enough to let Liam give not only kiss on his neck, but bite it as well. And suck on it. And it makes Zayn’s pajama pants tighten in places that shouldn’t be tightening at ten in the morning.

**_where did u tak zayni he has likor_ **

**_where is zayni_ **

**_Y R U W HER_ **

**_WHERE IS ZAYN???_ **

**_IF U LEVE W HER I WILL KILL U_ **

**_KILLING U_ **

**_UR_ ** **_DEAD JST SO U KNO_ **

**_END OF FRIENDSHIP_ **

**_JK BUT UR STILL DYING_ **

**_LOVE YOU_ **

And he remembers. It hits him hard in the chest, so hard he has to lean up on his elbows in his bed because he’s coughing like a bitch and he thinks he might be crying like one too. He told Liam he _loves_ him. He told Liam that he loves him and that is not something he is okay with admitting while he’s wasted. Or at all, really.

It’s not easy to remember, simply for the reason that Zayn doesn’t like recalling what a fool he must have made of himself. But he does remember the stupidly sappy confessions of love. He blames Louis and Harry and all their nagging for him to watch Lifetime Movie Network on movie nights and _ugh._ Shit. He’s got to get out of here, like, now.

He erases all of Eleanor’s messages, because he does not need Liam seeing any of those text messages and having his memory defogged. And El won’t bring them up to Liam, because she makes it a rule to delete any and all messages from her inbox the morning after a party. Some shit about it clearing up her conscience. Probably just because she doesn’t want to see how much of an ass she was to Mitch the night prior, but he’s not one to judge.

Liam calls for Zayn down the hall and he fumbles to put the phone back on the nightstand like it was undisturbed. Not like Liam knew it was there in the first place, but it would look really fucking sketchy if it was just lying on the bed next to Zayn when Liam walked through the door.

Only his plans were demolished when the phone vibrated in his hand, scaring the shit out of him. And it was already there, in his hands, so he _had_ to read it. Really, he did. It was human nature to be inquiring. He was stretching his mind.

Or something like that.

**_I had a great time last night, see you for lunch? (; xx-Dani_ **

Liam was getting kisses via text now?

And what the fuck did she mean by a great time? If Liam was on the porch this morning, does that mean he’s not good enough to be taken home to a proper bed before she dumps him somewhere? Are they fucking? They better not be—

“Did I get a message?”

Zayn jumps and he already knows he looks guilty. He is guilty, but he doesn’t particularly care right now. He’s embarrassed and that’s an emotion that Zayn doesn’t like. It makes him feel itchy, like his every move is being watched and scrutinized with Liam’s careful eyes and his lips burn for the feel of a cigarette and he _hates_ it.

He hates feeling uncomfortable around Liam because Liam is supposed to be his one good thing. He’s not loud like Louis and he’s not weird like Harry. Zayn doesn’t have to worry about him stopping him in the middle of conversation to grab a bite to eat like he does with Niall and he doesn’t have to drive to Starbuck’s to bribe him to be quiet for five fucking minutes. ‘Cause that’s really all Eleanor is good for when she’s not being preachy as shit.

“Yeah,” he says, tossing the phone to Liam on his way to his bathroom. He side steps him when Liam tries to pull him in for Zayn doesn’t know what, but he has a feeling he’s not going to like it. “Danni said she had a great time last night. She can’t wait to see you for lunch. Better go home and get ready, it’s already almost eleven.”

“Zayn.”

Liam says his name like it’s a warning, but Zayn can’t be bothered. He splashes water on his face and rubs on some deodorant before he comes out. Liam’s waiting to attack. Zayn calls it an attack because that’s what it fucking is when Liam’s long octopus arms wrap around him on his way to his closet and stop him in his place.

“What do you want, Liam? I need to put some fresh clothes on. Do you mind?”

Liam doesn’t move then, so Zayn’s elbow connects sharply with whatever part of Liam he can reach—his stomach—and he continues on his way to his closet. Just because Liam grew an inch taller than him this summer, does not mean Zayn will take to being manhandled, no sir. Or ma’am. Whichever.

“So not only can I not date her, but I can’t go out to eat with her either?” Zayn tugs a shirt off a hanger in the closet and shucks it on over his head. He grabs a box from the top shelf of his closet—the one Waliyha can’t reach—and turns around to see Liam nodding sarcastically. “Okay, are there any more rules I need to hear. You know, just so we’re on the same page.”

Zayn doesn’t like his tone, so he takes the mature route and gives him the silent treatment. He doesn’t want to fight with Liam; he never wants to fight with Liam. He wants to get his records from his stash and go to Ed’s.

That’s what he does when it all becomes too much. Liam can’t help him, and Zayn can’t help himself. At this point, he doesn’t even know what’s _wrong._ He just needs it fixed. Zayn needs to fix himself so he doesn’t slip up again. He looks over at Liam with his concerned eyes and folded arms and fixed stare and he never wants to lose that, so he’s going to let Drake and Marvin Gaye and Anthony Hamilton sew him right up so he can get the fuck over the panic attack he’s about to have if Liam tries to hug him one more time.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, trying to remain cold, but wanting to cave when Liam frowns at him. He’s hurt and Zayn never wants to be responsible for any pain that may be bestowed upon Liam. He sighs. “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Which it is, because I can see your giant brain trying to figure out what you did wrong. It’s nothing. Go out with Danielle. Dance with Danielle. Have lunch with Danielle. _Fuck_ Danielle. I don’t care, Liam.”

Liam opens his mouth to talk, but dammit he’s not finished.

Zayn holds up a hand and carefully slips a few vinyl records into his backpack. “You’re a big boy and you can make your own decisions. If you decide to—”

“Zayn, stop.” Zayn doesn’t realize until Liam grabs his hands that he is shaking, and he feels pathetic and stupid and reckless and he just crashes for a little bit because Liam is his safe haven. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

He’s running to Liam to run from Liam.

“I just—I need to clear my head for a while, alright?” Liam nods like he understands. Of course he does, and Zayn falls a little bit more in love with him as Liam’s hands run up and down his back and over his shoulders and into his hair. Liam frames Zayn’s face in order for him to look up at Liam. “I’m fine. I just want to go to Ed’s. Let me go to Ed’s.”

He says the last part like a plea, and if he doesn’t put some headphones in at some time in the near future, Zayn is going to start crying and it won’t be pretty. The tears won’t be pretty. Zayn’s seen himself cry. He’s still fairly attractive.

“I’ll take Safaa over to Lou’s,” Liam mutters, snapping into action and moving Zayn out of his room and down the hall to the living room. “Waliyha will be good at Gracie’s until your dad gets off. You just go do whatever it is you do at Ed’s on your day off.” Liam smiles at him but Zayn can tell it’s strained. Fuck, he’s screwed up big this time. “Why Ed has a record shop open at this time of the day on a weekend, I’ve no clue, but it’s cool. We’ll be fine here.”

Liam is so big and dumb and gorgeous that Zayn wants to gouge his own eyes out sometimes. He can’t believe he let those words come out of his mouth last night, least of all right to Liam’s face. After they had a shouting match about something stupid—probably Danielle. He almost lost it, and the end result would have been to lose Liam and that scares him more than anything else he can think of right now. Even getting old. ‘Cause wrinkles don’t sit well with Zayn or his skin.

“I’ll be back in a few. I won’t stay long, I promise.”

Liam shushes him and shuffles him out of the door. When he’s on the porch Liam kisses the top of his head and it takes everything in him not to cringe and move out of his range.

“Take all the time you need,” he says, swatting Zayn playfully on the behind, but his smile isn’t reaching his eyes. He closes the door and shuffles back into the house.

Zayn can hear him telling Safaa to hurry up so she can go see Lottie and Uncle Lou. Zayn almost wants to cry, seeing as Liam is taking care of him _and_ his girls. Yet Zayn can’t even tell him what’s wrong and that sucks. It really fucking sucks. Because Zayn would do something as cheesy as give Liam the world if he asked, but he won’t. Ask, that is. And that’s why Zayn keeps his mouth shut, because he has never been something Liam has wanted and he knows that. Zayn won’t ruin what he has with Liam on the off chance that he’ll ever want something more from him.

Zayn walks past his car and starts towards his workplace, thinking. He walks to Ed’s like that, completely void of any emotion, just wondering what he could do to solve this. What the hell does one do in a situation like this?

In the end he decides that he really wishes USC would send him a fucking letter, because he’d really like to get the hell out of this town.

**/////**

That’s what he thinks about during his time at Ed’s. Leaving, for good with Louis.

Ed doesn’t say anything when he walks through the door. He looks about as surprised as Zayn does to see a customer in before noon, and the both of them smirk at each other as Bonnie runs around the store, trying to find a record the young girl is requesting. She shakes a finger at Zayn and tells him he needs to re-order the store the right way. The correct way, she says. Zayn shrugs and tells her it’s not his fault that she doesn’t know the difference in the quality of Adam Levine’s voice against David Archuleta’s.

“It’s all in the falsettos, Bon-Bon,” he says, making his way to the back of the store.

She gives him the bird and he and Ed laugh.

The customer looks at all three of them like they’re crazy, and maybe they are. Just a little bit.

“Oh no you don’t,” Bonnie snaps when she sees Zayn coming out of the back with his prized portable record player in his hands. “We don’t have time for you to sit and mope today, Malik. I’m not listening to Marvin’s Room all for a whole shift. I don’t have the patience.”

Zayn looks to Ed for confirmation of Bonnie’s instructions and he waves his hand at Zayn, telling him to go on. So Zayn does. And in no time, Drake is caressing away the headache in the front of Zayn’s skull with his voice, and Zayn’s lying back on the couch with his eyes closed.

“Zayn, did you not just hear what I said?!”

“Leave the boy alone, Bon.” Ed comes to his rescue and Zayn smiles secretly into his hand. That’s an argument waiting to happen, but he doesn’t care. It’s Ed’s shop, so if he tells Zayn he can listen to vinyl in The Pit, he’s going to. “He paid enough for that thing. I reckon he should get to come in here once and a while and have a listen.”

Ed’s talking about Betsy, Zayn’s most prized possession. He had been saving up for that damn thing since he was a ripe fourteen years of age and his grandpa on his mum’s side had shown him the true appeal of a good record. When he was younger he listened to a bunch of shit music with Louis and Liam, not really seeing the attraction to the old rock and roll music that was always blasting in Harry’s room. When he went to stay the summer with his grandparents in the States, he listened to country and rock and pop and classical music, all of them having that crisp pop of white noise in the background.

He thinks that might have been his first true love; music.

So he clambered into the shitty old record store that was just a few blocks from his house. He and Liam had seen it when they were sent to get groceries, back before Liam’s mum got a car of her own to drive them. It looked odd from the outside, and Zayn thought it probably still did. But Zayn was back home in his boring old town, and he was missing the sounds of the summer he’d spent with his grandpa already and he needed something to fill his need for old music and scratchy sounds of the pin dropping onto vinyl.

Ed had called him a runt and told him he didn’t know anything about good music, and to come back when Zayn could tell him the difference between jazz and blues.

Zayn came back a day later and told Ed he could go fuck himself. Ed hired him on the spot.

There was this super cool record player for sale back then, one Zayn asked if he could work off, but Ed told him he was out of his mind. But that if he wanted one, he could save his money and Ed would get him a brand new one just like it. That’s what he did. He pocketed any money Ed had coming his way, and when he got Betsy, he took her home and he didn’t come out of his room for hours that night.

He fell in love with the sound and the quality and the richness of the voices floating through his room. They transported him to a place where he was loved and cherished and the sun was on his face, a strict contrast to the gloomy clouds cast over his home town. Zayn could feel the grains of sand beneath his feet, because Texas was beautiful in the summer. It was scorching hot and the sun never seemed to stop shining.

It reminded him of the shop in the mornings, how light cast over everything it could touch, making it seem more stunning, more ethereal. His brain made all those connections when his nose was filled with the smell of dust and vinyl and memories, and his ears rang with the noise of cellophane wrapping crinkling when a customer unwrapped their brand new record. Just like Zayn did when his Pops gave him a recording of _Michael Jackson_ on his last day on the Gulf Coast of Texas. He can smell the sea water whenever he hears _The Temptations_ blasting from the speakers in Ed’s beat up old Chevy. He even remembers the wrinkling of his face as his hair wilted under the ocean spray when he’s subject to Bonnie’s nostalgic playing of _The Clash._

Music makes him forget all of the struggles of his current reality, and it drags him back to a time where everything was perfect. Zayn didn’t have to get his sisters up in the morning for school. He didn’t have to follow Liam around and watch him get with girls that seemed gross in Zayn’s opinion. He didn’t have to process that at the time, the irritation he felt towards those girls was probably due to his own feelings for Liam. It wasn’t Zayn’s responsibility to look out for everyone in the neighborhood because he had the oldest big sister and he could punch the hardest.

Zayn was worry free for three months that year, and he’d spent every waking moment of his life trying to get that back.

His grandparents died that winter, and Zayn curled up in a ball and listened to _Pattie Labelle_ until his eyes dried and he didn’t have any more tears left in him. He was scared that he would never find a way to recreate that summer again, but Liam told him the music would never go away. People might come and go, but he had the music and it would help him remember. That’s how he fell even more in love with the rich crackles and pops of a record and the warm smile of his best friend.

Now he was drowning in Liam; in his smile, his eyes, his voice, and his touch. Music wasn’t saving him like it was supposed to and _fuck_ if he didn’t need something stronger. Something tangible that would repress the ludicrous images of Liam kissing him one day. Or Liam holding him in his arms like he meant it. Or something equally as cliché and impractical.

Maybe California was a good idea. Maybe USC would be the right dosage of sun and sand and sea water to erase that fictional part of Liam out of his mind. The one he would never have. Sure, they could still be best friends or what the fuck ever, but Zayn could finally move on. There would be an ocean and a whole goddamn continent in between them and Zayn would have room to breathe without thoughts of Liam in his head. And if he hated it, if it wasn’t enough, if nothing was _ever_ enough to make him fall out of love with that dumb smile and those broad shoulders, well then Zayn could come back. After Louis got settled and comfortable with being on his own.

Of course these thoughts take a lot longer than a couple of seconds. There are a few moments where Zayn just stares up at the ceiling or the back of his eyelids. And he walks up and down the isles of the store, running his fingertips over flimsy packaging and thin cardboard squares. Zayn even ventured towards the CDs and let his fingernails catch over the plastic cases as he skimmed through titles that he never seemed to pay much attention to when he was shelving.

Niall comes in around the second time Zayn has to restart _Take Care_ , and he comes bearing gifts. Zayn can tell from his fleeting eyes and long hug that he remembers clearly what Zayn relayed to Liam last night. He stays silent about it. Doesn’t even speak the whole time he’s in the store. He sets a Styrofoam cup of Coke on the table in front of the couch and pounces on Zayn while Drake is in the middle of rapping _Lord Knows_. With that fucking annoying Rick Ross grunt in the background.

“Niall, you’re heavy as shit. Get up, dude.” Niall gives him a sloppy, wet kiss on the cheek and gets up like Zayn asked.

All he does is pick up Zayn’s drink and hand it to him, and then he’s back on his way out the door with a ruffle of Zayn’s hair and a bump to Ed’s fist.

When Zayn’s exchanged _Take Care_ for _Continuum,_ he should have known Harry would be drawn in by the vocal chords of John Mayer. He’s got a backpack in his hands, and a sack of food in the other. Zayn checks his phone and realizes that it’s almost four, and he hasn’t eaten all day. He honestly doesn’t remember what he’s been doing for six hours, but he remembers all the thoughts and conclusions he’s come to in that amount of time, so he guesses he can say it’s not a complete waste.

Harry throws the paper sack at Zayn’s face and Zayn doesn’t have the energy to get up and kick him in the shins for his efforts. Everyone knows Zayn well enough not to disturb him when he’s having a music day, but he thinks they’re just trying to take care of him. Harry snuggles with him on the couch for a few minutes before Ed chases him out of the store, trying to save the poor guy’s life before Bonnie gets back for her second shift. 

Cougars, man.

Eleanor comes bearing the only condolence she’s ever known. Not that Zayn much minds the frozen cappuccino, but he was expecting it. Zayn can see Mitch parked in the driveway and he raises his eyes to Eleanor, who just tucks her head into his chest and they both feel sorry for themselves together. She leaves when Mitch honks and she begs him to stay quiet with a kiss to his cheek.

Louis and Liam are noticeably absent, but Zayn thinks they has the hardest job of all today, which is looking after two of the most important people in Zayn’s life while he breaks down his thoughts. Plus, Zayn doesn’t think he could see Louis right now and not spill the beans to everyone about how bad he wants to leave every thing behind while he prances around in the sun with his best mate. He doesn’t even want to train his thoughts on Liam right now.

Suddenly Uni costs register in his mind. Then he doesn’t know what his mum and dad will do with Waliyha and Safaa while he’s gone. Doniya already left, and Zayn was the only one who could be around enough to take care of them while their parents worked. It became too much. He felt too selfish. He couldn’t just leave—

“If I didn’t already pay you too much already, I’d offer you a penny for your thoughts.” Ed makes Zayn sit up with a kick of his foot to Zayn’s arm and he sits in the now vacant spot.

He’s got a joint in his hand, and Zayn looks around the store to see it empty and dark, and the sun long gone. The open/closed sign is telling people to fuck off and it’s just Zayn alone with his thoughts and his boss. Not to mention the thick cloud of smoke hovering in front of their faces, something that Bonnie will kill Ed for if she checks the tapes in the morning.

“Fuck you, you don’t pay me enough to work in this dump.” Ed laughs, because he knows he pays Zayn a hell of a lot more than he deserves and he knows Zayn is aware of that too. “Gimme some of that, you old man. On the wrong side of the hump to be smokin’, aren’t ya?”

Ed takes a hit and Zayn watches him flutter his eyes opened and closed before he holds the joint out to Zayn.

“Here, you look like you need it more than I do anyhow.” He shoulder checks him once his brain catches up to all of Zayn’s words. “And screw you, mate. I’m only peaking forty.”

They both laugh and settle into the couch and pass the weed back and forth to one another until the ember burns the tips of their fingers. Zayn’s too vain and too much of a pussy to smoke roaches, he’ll admit it. So they drop the remainder on the concrete floor and Ed stamps it out with the toe of his work boots. Zayn isn’t sure why he’s wearing freaking work boots at a record store, but it’s Ed, so it shouldn’t really surprise him.

The record Zayn is playing stops and Ed rifles through his bag, pulling out an unopened copy of _Boyce Avenue: Covers_ , and he sets it up to play, arranging Zayn’s cases in his bag nice and neatly. Zayn and Ed are alike in their appreciation for music, even if Ed has loved music for far longer than Zayn can imagine. Old fucker.

“You gonna tell me what crawled up your ass today, or am I gonna have to figure it out?”

Zayn glares at him in the dim light emanating from the lamp to Ed’s left. But he might as well answer. There’s not really anyone else Zayn is willing to share with. And who the fuck is Ed going to tell?

He picks at his nails with his teeth. “What would you say if I left town?”

Ed doesn’t let him down, not skipping a beat before he’s smiling over at Zayn with his big grin and ginger scruff. “I would say it’s about fucking time you decided what you were going to do for Uni.” Zayn searches for anything ingenuine in his face, but he comes up short. Ed’s still fucking smiling. “Also, I’ve been looking to re-staff the place pretty much since you started.”

Zayn does plant his elbow in Ed’s side then, ‘cause he can be a real prick sometimes, but Zayn loves him for it. His boss throws an arm over Zayn’s shoulders and rubs his arm like an old pal. Which, Zayn guesses he is.

“Tell me what you’re really worried about.” Ed removes his hand and pulls a beer from the floor, opening one for himself and laughing at Zayn when he refuses because he never wants to drink again. “Whatever issue you came in here with, you’re over that’n. You got wrinkles of a new problem on your face, just got there a couple minutes before I closed up. Spill ‘em, kiddo. I got all night. I ain’t goin’ no where.”

“It just feels a little selfish, is all.” He doesn’t look up, because Ed is intimidating as fuck with his piercing blue eyes and his alarming red hair. Zayn would get this off his chest, eventually. He didn’t want to be rushed. “My mum and dad can’t afford University even if I wanted to go. I have enough money saved up for an apartment and to finish paying off my car, but I can’t pay for school on my own. I won’t ask mum to do it, Ed. I won’t. They paid for Doniya already and they’re barely surviving.”

“That doesn’t sound like much in the way of an excuse to me, Zayn. You can do better than that.”

Zayn scoffs. “That’s the truth, man. I’m not making up excuses. But if you want an excuse, how about the girls?” Zayn’s hands are waving around to help him prove his point. And Ed’s knowing eyes are really irritating him. “They won’t know what to do without me! They’re my little sisters and they’re going to have to raise themselves if I leave. My mum and dad have to work, it’s not their fault. That’s why I’m there—to, _I don’t know—_ make sure they’re okay.” Zayn hangs his head. “I need to make sure they’re okay.”

Ed chuckles, and that’s really fucking rude, because Zayn is having a break down here.

“I hardly doubt your sisters will be orphans if you leave, Malik.” He pats him on the back several times, before reaching for his damn beer again. Drunk. “As long as Liam’s around, and Lou’s sisters and El and Harry and that little Irish one, Niall, I think—they’ll be fine. I didn’t mention Louis because I assume you two are going to University together? Somewhere far by how your panties are all scrunched?”

Zayn just nods, ‘cause he feels like he’s explained already that he’s not a fucking girl and he doesn’t wear panties and Ed is just an asshole.

“That’s the thing about all of you,” he says, wiping his mouth and slapping Zayn on the back again. “You’re this weird little family of families. I don’t know which of y’all are fucking or flirting or are actual family. That girl and the guy Harry’s shaggin’ do look an _awful_ lot alike, though—” He waves off his own comment and gets back on track. “What I’m trying to say is you shouldn’t worry so much about everyone you’re leaving behind. You ain’t going off to war or nothin’, it’s just school. You’ll be back and they’ll understand.”

Ed laughs at his enlightened expression and tosses back the rest of his beer.

“Plus, ya ain’t that damn important, you pompous little fuck.”

He makes it sound so _simple._ And when he says it Zayn believes him and he can see reason and decent explanations or whatever. It just works out in his head then. Ed takes it in like a joke, like life is amusing to him, and there’s nothing it can throw at him that he doesn’t have a solution for. This is why Zayn loves the old bastard.

“I’m still too broke to pay attention,” Zayn says, hoping if he tosses out problems to Ed, he’ll be able to field Zayn an answer. “What the hell am I supposed to do about that?”

“You don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he says, making Zayn’s brows furrow as to what the heck he means by that. “Let Uncle Ed take care of the money, and you just get your delinquent ass into Uni. I’ll take care of the rest, alright? You know I won’t let you down, Zayn.”

Ed never has let him down. He gave Zayn a job, and a paycheck, and a sense of responsibility. Ed took him under his wing and introduced Zayn to music he had never heard of, brought him new and old memories and gave him a place to go when it all became too much. Zayn has never found fault in Ed, besides the fact that he drinks too much, smokes a shit ton of pot and skims a few bucks off the register on the weekends. But he’s never disappointed Zayn where it counts. So Zayn will trust him one last time.

“I’m going to take your word for it, old man.” Zayn stands up and stretches, already noticing how much lighter he feels, like the problems sitting on his shoulders were tangible and real and they were physically weighing him down. Now they’re gone. “Let’s get out of here before Bonnie comes looking for you. I don’t want to be here for that shit.”

Ed packs away Zayn’s vinyl and hands over his bag. “Watch who you call old, before I make you walk home.”

Zayn snorts. “Like I’m getting in the car with your drunken ass anyway. You might trust your driving while under intoxication, but I do not.”

He scoots Zayn out of the store with a laugh, one that extinguishes when they both notice that Ed’s car isn’t in the parking lot, meaning Bonnie must have taken it home. Ed seems upset for a minute, before he shrugs his shoulders and shoves Zayn in the opposite direction he takes off in.

Ed scolds him a few steps away when Zayn starts laughing again at the situation. “Don’t know what you’re laughing for! This just means you have to open tomorrow morning!”

Zayn shakes his head, because he should have known Ed’s shoulder of comfort would come at a price. As he drags his feet home until his house comes into sight, Zayn thinks it was worth it.

**/////**

When Zayn gets home, his mum and dad’s cars are parked in the driveway, as is his own. Liam’s truck is sitting at the curb. Zayn’s happy to see he’s still there. His chest feels lighter and his thoughts are clearer and he wants to hug Liam and tell him he’s sorry for being a prick the past couple of days.

He opens his front door to chaos. His dad is reading to Safaa on the couch, and she’s giggling and causing enough racket to fill the front half of the house. He smiles at his father and catches the kiss that his little sister blows him; placing it against his heart and blowing one right back at her.

Waliyha is in the kitchen with Liam and Zayn’s mum. Liam and Waliy are running around the kitchen trying to help Mum prepare a late dinner. She most likely just got off of a double shift, but still wanted to make sure her kids weren’t eating junk food all weekend. It smelled strong of curry as Zayn walked past the kitchen and to his bedroom, setting his bag down and coming to join his family. And Liam, which was basically the same thing.

Doniya’s voice is on speaker phone when he returns to the kitchen, and he says hello to his big sister as he eyes a vacant space in the corner. A place that neither his sister or Liam seem to gravitate towards as they cut up vegetables for a haphazard soup, because everyone knows Dad and Safaa can’t be bothered to eat curry.

Liam smiles at him, but it’s tight and strained and Zayn wants to remedy that as soon as possible. He hops up on the counter, swatting Waliyha with his foot as she passes towards the refrigerator. Liam must have been with the girls all day; either that or he picked the both of them up from wherever they were off to this during the day. Zayn knows his dad is spending time with Safaa before he has to go back into work around one in the morning. Waliyha will get Sunday night with him, and tonight with mum.

Soon, dinner is ready and Liam and Zayn dish out helpings in an awkward silence as Yaser starts working on cleaning out the pots and pans that were dirtied in the process of cooking. The family is eventually seated around the table, sans for Zayn, who already ate, and Liam, who claims not to be hungry either. Which is weird, because Liam never skips a meal. Says he’s a growing boy or some shit. Not that Zayn doesn’t believe him, because Liam gets taller every fucking day, but it’s still weird.

Liam plants himself on the couch and he looks like he’s been through the ringer. Zayn’s skin crawls at the thought that Liam’s distress might have been his fault. But he’s not as good as Liam is with apologies, because Zayn is very seldom ever in the wrong. Or if he is, Louis taught him to deny, deny, deny.

He racks his brain, trying to hash out what Liam does to get Zayn to forgive him so easily. His eyes are dark and mysterious, and he can’t quite get the puppy-dog thing down yet. That’s out. Louis tells him he’s ugly when he pouts. Then again, Louis thinks every one is ugly when they pout, so he doesn’t take much offense. Louis’ a snob.

In the end, he bites the side of his mouth and plops onto Liam’s lap. He curls his knees up to his chest and ducks his face into Liam’s neck, happy that Liam breathes a sigh of relief and Zayn can feel the tension seep out of his shoulders and the room at the same time.

“How was your day,” Liam asks, keeping his voice low. Even though Zayn doesn’t see the point. It’s not like his family can hear them over their loud-ass talking. It’s hard to ever get peace and quiet when everyone is home. He loves it all the same, though. “Did you clear your head? I guess you did, if you’re letting me hug you, huh?”

Liam laughs a little to himself and it hurts Zayn’s heart for some reason.

“Fuck are you talking about, Payne? _I_ hugged _you_ first.” Zayn slips his arm between the couch and Liam’s back, exaggerating his point as he clasps his hands together at Liam’s side. “See? I’m in control of this hug. Don’t try to take credit for it.”

Zayn’s heart starts beating a little faster at the full volume of Liam’s laughter, something that should never be muted with insecurities or hesitation because it was a really fucking awesome sound.

“I went and swam some laps today.” There’s a rise on his voice that tells Zayn he’s hiding something, and he doesn’t want to jump down Liam’s throat again, so he nuzzles into his neck this time, showing Liam that he’s listening and he’s _here_ for him. He hopes Liam will understand, and he does. “I went with Danny and a couple of her old friends. They were nice. We had a nice time.”

He’s talking slowly, like he’s scared if he says it too fast, it will spook Zayn. Zayn doesn’t want that. As much as Zayn hates Danielle’s stupid guts, he won’t let her cause a rift between him and his best friend. He can suck it up and be a decent mate to Liam. He owes him that much. Zayn’s really got to stop being a fucking prick.

It’s going to start messing with his karma.

“I don’t want you to be scared to talk to me. Don’t be a pussy about these things,” he says, because it sounds a lot more like Zayn-like than: _Please don’t be scared to talk to me about your problems._ And it makes Liam laugh again, so there. “I’m sorry about the Danielle thing. I was a dick to you about it—”

“You were.”

Zayn lifts his head to look at Liam’s amused eyes and smile. “You going to let me finish?”

Liam feigns seriousness and waves his hands for Zayn to continue. “Carry on, Kanye.”

“Don’t be such a smart-ass, because that makes you Taylor Swift.”

Liam surges forward to kiss Zayn’s jaw, and Zayn’s imminent reasons for homicide start to pile up again. “You’re the reasons for the teardrops on my guitar, babe.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and pushes Liam’s face away from his own. But Safaa was right earlier, Liam does have a heavy fucking head, so Zayn’s hand doesn’t do much damage in distancing him. Liam’s breath tickles the side of Zayn’s face as he lays more kisses on him, anywhere from his cheek to his ear to his hairline. Zayn hates that he kind of loves it.

“Get the fuck off me, you giant.”

“You love it.”

“I do _not_ —Liam, quit your shit. I’m not a toy, you ass. _Liam._ ”

Zayn is now under attack, the victim of Liam’s long fingers, digging into his stomach. He’s laughing; not because he enjoys it, but because he’s ticklish and Liam knows that. He’s pressed even further into Liam’s chest until he falls backwards onto the couch, the buttery smooth upholstery not doing much to keep him from slipping down the seat. Liam’s persistent in his goal to diminish Zayn to a bundle of giggles. For every inch backwards Zayn fell, Liam followed with another inch forward.

Zayn’s eyes fall closed with Liam positioning himself in between his legs, the arrangement more than awkward with their groins aligned and Liam’s fingers burning hot underneath Zayn’s shirt on his bare skin.

“Liam, _stop—_ ” he opens his eyes and the breath that escapes from his lungs has nothing to do with his wild thrashing under Liam’s ministrations. Liam’s face is so close to his, smiling down at him, clueless as usual that Zayn’s entire world revolves around the crinkles in his eyes and the shape of his lips.

All he has to do is tip his head up, just the tiniest bit, and he’ll collide with Liam. Zayn just has to work up the right amount of courage to put everything on the line, slot his lips with Liam’s, and hope everything will fall into place. But Liam beats him to the punch and buries his face in Zayn’s neck; laughing softly and smoothing his hand over Zayn’s stomach before letting him go.

“I love you, man,” he says. He relaxes back into his rightful spot and helps Zayn sit up straight.

He can barely quell the urge to pull Liam back down into him. He wants to fucking scream _: don’t go, stay here, with_ me _and no one else._ But Liam’s already making his way to the kitchen for something to drink.

They don’t discuss the tension that once lay between them any further. But Zayn can tell in the way Liam kisses the top of his head during movie time, and the way he lets Zayn pull him down to the floor to cuddle, that they’re okay.  

When Liam got up to go home and see his parents, and Zayn caught a glimpse of his phone, he didn’t even flip shit when he saw a text message from Danielle. Liam was all grown up now, and he could take care of his own heart. Moreover, she had to know if she fucked over Liam, she would have a very angry Eleanor on her hands. And Zayn and Louis as well. He thought she might be smarter than that. Or he hoped so. For Liam’s sake and her own.

El was a scrappy one.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow at work,” Liam says, dragging Zayn to the door with him. Zayn was eaten up by Liam’s long limbs. He stood with his nose at Liam’s throat, and Liam’s arm secured around his shoulders. “What time are you supposed to get off?”

“Ed’s making me open again, so I’ll be out around noon.” His arms wrap around Liam’s middle. Zayn slots his fingers together and lets Liam kiss at his hair. ‘Cause it feels like _them,_ and that feels really fucking good. “I was going to take the girls to the park tomorrow, if it’s not too cold outside. I might invite Lou and his sisters. Shit, we might even take Boris out with us. You want to tag along?”

Liam’s breath makes Zayn’s hair stick to his forehead. “I have weekend practice from ten ‘til about two.” His hands drop down to Zayn’s waist, and he jumps when Liam’s thumbs dig into his hip bones. “I’ll come by and bring you breakfast before I head to campus. Then I’ll stop by the park when I get out.”

“Sounds good to me,” Zayn says, surprising Liam when he kisses him nose this time instead. “You better not be late, either. I can only deal with that much crazy for a limited amount of time. Louis is bound to drive me fucking nuts by one.” His finger pokes hard into Liam’s chest as he backs him out the door. “Don’t let me down.”

“Do I ever?”

And his smile is so bright and honest and otherworldly that Zayn can’t bring his voice to tell him that _yes,_ he has let Zayn down before. He lets Zayn down every time he presses his lips to his forehead and then backs away. Zayn gets let down harshly when Liam pulls him to his chest at night, not meaning a single thing by it, the proximity falling into their routine somewhere along the way. Liam lets him down every time he cups his face and whispers that he loves him, only to leave him standing there to deal with the aftermath it does on his fucking heart.

But that also seems like a fucking mouthful, so Zayn just shakes his head and swats at Liam’s bum.

“Get out of here, mate. I’m getting tired of seeing your ugly mug around here all the time.”

Liam laughs and walks down the steps, unlocking the driver’s side of his truck and hollering over his shoulder to Zayn. “You know you love me!”

“Yeah,” Zayn says to himself. “I know I do.”

**/////**

Everyone is in bed, and Zayn’s balancing his phone on his knee. He’s almost called Louis six fucking times. He’s chickened out every single time. Zayn’s still got to wait for his letter of acceptance to come in, but he’s decided that even if he doesn’t get into college, he’ll find some way to book it to America with Louis.

That, he’s sure of.

Only, he can’t gather up the stones to call him and tell him. That will make it permanent. Sure, Louis would let him back out and not think twice about it, but Zayn wants to be sure before he gets Louis’ hopes up. He wants to give him the go ahead to start on the path of pursuing his dreams without the fear of going at it alone.

But he can’t make the call. Not yet. There’s still one piece of the puzzle missing, and Zayn would love to solve it, but he’s fucking lost as to what more it is that he needs.

Something is on TV, but Zayn couldn’t say what it was. He’s been staring at it for the past few hours, waiting for the crowd in the living room to dissipate, so he could finally be alone with his thoughts. At one point, he considers going to his room and hooking his iPod up to his dock, but he doesn’t want to wake his mum and dad up. So for now, he’s bored out of his fucking mind, but he can’t bring himself to go to his room and sleep.

“You look constipated.”

Zayn almost drops the can of soda in his hand, and he would have been seriously pissed if he had to clean up the upholstery because no one in this house knew how to give anyone a head’s up before they walked into a room. He looks over to see Waliyha walking into the living room from her bedroom, small blanket clutched in her hands as she worms her way into the space between Zayn and the arm rest. She snatches the remote from him, like it’s some great victory, unaware that he wasn’t interested in whatever the hell was playing on the screen.

He’ll let her have her moment, though. Because she looks like a kid with her hair in little braids and blanket up to her chin as she turns the station to one that plays cartoons late at night. And he misses that version of his little sister, so he tugs her closer to his side and drops a kiss to her head, smiling when she doesn’t even try to squirm away.

“Why the long face, ugly?”

She had to open her mouth and ruin the moment.

“Look at me trying to have some brother and sister bonding time, and you go and call me names,” Zayn jokes, ‘cause he knows he’s not ugly, and he knows she didn’t mean it. “Why are you up so late?”

“It’s a Saturday,” she says, looking at him pointedly. “Don’t avoid the question. What’s been up with you lately?”

Zayn honestly didn’t think she had noticed his bad mood, but it seems as though he’s been a little more obvious than he had planned. Or she’s just nosy. Either way, now that she’s older, Zayn doesn’t like lying to her. He thinks it would be better to just tell her the truth before she finds out from someone else. Like Louis. Or Eleanor, who is bound to find out sooner or later.

“What do you think about me moving away?” Zayn hesitates for a second, before deciding that the whole truth is better than a partial one. “Would you be mad if I went to the States for a while? It’s okay if you say yes, Liyah. If you don’t want me to go, I won’t.”

There’s a long silence, and Zayn thinks she might be waiting for a commercial before she answers, but Tom is still chasing Jerry when she turns her head and regards Zayn with a stern eye, one that makes him shift a little in his seat. It’s kind of scary.

“Can I have your room if you leave?”

Zayn’s mouth falls open, and that makes Waliyha double over and laugh. He pushes her off the couch, where she rolls around like the heathen she is, with no regard for people’s sleeping habits or Zayn’s feelings. He doesn’t mean to fold his arms and pout, but that’s what happens.

Waliyha stands up and slaps at Zayn’s arms. “I was just kidding, _geez._ Don’t cry, bubba. You’re such a _baby._ ” Her face gets serious and she sits beside him, picking up his hands and squeezing them. “Me and Saf knew you weren’t going to be here forever. America’s awfully far, but we’re not going to _die_ without you. We do have a mum and dad, you know?”

He pokes his tongue out at her, but squeezes her hands back.

“I’m not abandoning you,” he assures her. “I’ll come back to visit as much as I can. It’ll probably only be for a couple of years anyway. Don’t do anything stupid like burn the house down while I’m gone, okay?”

She balls up her fist and punches him in the shoulder. Zayn’s proud to say that’s a habit she got from him.

“I didn’t plan on it, spaz. I’m just excited I’ll finally get my own room.” She sighs dramatically. “I’ve been waiting to get you out of the house for years!”

Zayn yanks her to his chest for a hug, just because he knows it will annoy her. And that’s what big brothers are for, annoying their little sisters.

It starts out as playful, but then turns serious when his kid sister buries her head in his neck and squeezes him tightly. It worries him a bit, that maybe it was all an act and she doesn’t want him to go like she said. She never hugs him like this anymore, and she definitely doesn’t sniffle into his neck like she’s about to cry. He raised a tough kid. Malik’s didn’t cry.

“I can stay if you want me to, Liyah. I’ll take care of you guys for a few more years—”

“No,” she shouts, scaring the both of them. “Do something for _yourself_ for once, Bub. You deserve it. You’re a good big brother. Me and Saf will love you no matter what you do or where you go. You don’t have to worry about us.”

He bites his lip, because if he tears up she’ll never let him forget it. So he holds his tears back and strokes her hair as the both of them sit there. It reminds Zayn of when Waliyha was smaller, and she let him rock her to sleep when she had a bad dream. It’s nice and sappy and a moment that he hadn’t had with his sister in a long time.

“When did you get so smart, little one?” She laughs then, and things seem to get lighter. Neither one of them really wants to cry anymore. “You’re making me look bad. I’m supposed to be the smart one. You’re ruinin’ my rep.”

She pats his face consolingly, and Zayn can almost feel the sarcastic remark about to come out of her mouth.

“Don’t fool yourself, big bro. You’re the pretty one.” She cackles at her own joke when Zayn frowns. “I’ve always been the smart one.”

“I guess modesty just runs in the family, huh?”

She smiles at him and stands up, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders and heading back for her room. “I guess so. Goodnight.” She turns around at the last second, glaring at him. “And don’t think this means I forgot about my CD. I want it _back,_ Zayn.”

“I don’t have the damn thing!”

“If I find it in your room, I sw—”

He holds up his hands in surrender when she marches back over to him. “I don’t have it, Liyah! Promise!” She decides against beating him to death and turns back for her room instead. “Hey, Li?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell Liam about this, yeah?” He says it because she has a really big mouth where Liam is concerned and he doesn’t want to tell Liam just yet. Not when things just got good between them after this fuck-storm of a weekend. Zayn isn’t ready to deal with heartbroken eyes and pouting lips. He’s just not. “Let’s keep this between me and you?”

She laughs at him for the millionth time tonight, and Zayn then remembers why Safaa is his favorite a good percent of the time. “I already told you, Zayn. I’m the smart one.” Waliyha shakes her head, her braids swishing back and forth across her shoulders. “There’s no way I’m gonna be the one to tell Liam that. No Malik is strong enough for the Payne Puppy-dog Eyes of Doom. You can do that all by yourself.”

“Thanks for the support, brat.”

“You’re absolutely welcome.”

**/////**

He doesn’t pick up the first time Zayn calls him, so he selects his number out of his call log, and calls him again. This time he picks up.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, mate?! Three in the morning. It’s _three in the morning!_ ”

“I’ll go.”

Zayn can hear shifting on the other end of the phone, as Louis adjusts in his bed. Because it’s three in the morning on a Saturday, which means old reruns of Beverly Hills: 90210 are on, and Louis was trying to pretend he wasn’t up watching them with his little sister.

“You’ll go to what?” Louis coughs into the phone, and just as Zayn suspected, he asks Lottie to turn down the television. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“University? USC, to be exact? I’ll go.”

“You’ll go?”

“Yeah, Lou. I’ll go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what'cha think! :D


	4. there's always another world to discover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck, okay. I suck and I know I suck, and I'm sorry for making you wait so long for a filler chapter, and I feel like shit about it. Please don't hate me. It's like 2 in the morning, and I wrote this in a few days. I was going to wait longer and just post a really long chapter, like longer than the 18K I already have here, but my beta told me to just upload this so you all don't have to wait to long to see the story progress. 
> 
> It's slow burning, even more so than I originally planned. But keep in mind that I only thought this was going to be 40K max.. oops? I know I promised last chapter that things would get a little more heated, but technically, I wasn't lying. This chapter is just a little longer than I planned, and I sort of liked what I had too much to delete any of it. 
> 
> Ch 5 is already in the works, and I should start typing in the afternoon after I get some glorious sleep. OMG I'm shutting up now. You may proceed to read the crap I decide to call writing. 
> 
> Tell me what you think???

If there’s something that irritates Zayn more than the little black moles on Morgan Freeman’s face, its dusting. The amount of dust at Ed’s place is unheard of. Usually he would put a Swiffer in Harry’s hands as soon as he came barging through the door, but he was late again, so Zayn was stuck wiping down the tops on bins and trying not to cough up a lung while he swept the dirt on the floor into the bright orange dustpan Bonnie kept under the register.

Zayn wasn’t on schedule for Sunday morning, but after Ed stumbled home drunk last night, he figured Bonnie would call him in anyway to cover her husband’s ass, so he might as well just get up and go. If Sunday wasn’t one of their busiest days of the week, Zayn wouldn’t have bothered to show up, but it was and he could use the extra hours, so what the fuck ever.

“Jesse McCartney’s in the back towards the wall,” Zayn said, pasting a smile onto his face and trying not to snap the necks of which ever customers stepped into his dust pile. “Aaron Carter can be found right about in the same area.”

Bonnie was checking out customers at the register and Zayn was busy cleaning shop. He could count about fifteen people mulling around crates and bins, picking up records and discs and sliding them back, probably not in the same place they were found. But that just gave Zayn something to do during the week instead of standing behind the counter twiddling his thumbs and trying not to kill Harry when he blasts fucking AC/DC on the store’s overhead sound system.

“Bro, where’s the A$AP Rocky in this joint?” One of Zayn and Ed’s regulars, Tommy, tapped Zayn on the shoulder and tried gingerly to step around the shit Zayn had swept into a small pile. This was appreciated. “I don’t know how much you like ‘em, or I would have tried to find it myself.”

Tommy came into the store enough to appreciate Zayn’s organization methods, which was a bonus because not many people did. He had long blonde dreadlocks, and they kind of look odd with his pale skin and small frame, but Zayn can appreciate the originality.

Zayn rubs his chin in thought, because they don’t keep much rap in the store besides old school Biggie and maybe a few copies of The Sugarhill Gang that Zayn swiped from the rival record store across the freeway. He’s stocked almost every piece of music that’s on the shelves, and he doesn’t remember coming across any A$AP.

“I’m pretty sure we don’t have anything by him, dude, but I’ll tell you what,” Zayn lead him over to his special collection of lyrical rap, kept away from anything current, because Zayn was kind of a music snob sometimes and modern rap was basically shit. Plus, people requested enough music from that genre for Zayn to wisen up and shelve them all in one place. “If you want some good music to vibe to, these are some of the greats. And they sound cool as fuck on vinyl.”

Zayn picked up _Reasonable Doubt,_ one of the earliest Jay-Z records, and he thumbed through stacks until he found an OutKast CD he’d deemed as pretty good and passed them over to Tommy. He was on the younger side, a few years behind Zayn in school, and it wasn’t hard to tell that most of the music he’d been exposed to was at the expense of the radio and whatever his friends listened to. No way in hell would someone listen to mainstream rap when they could be kicking back to Eazy-E and Nas. No fucking way. 

Tommy eyes the covers on the cases Zayn had given him, and Zayn can see the light in his eyes as he turns them over and looks at the track lists. “Thanks, man! Shit, this looks great.” He peered over Zayn’s shoulder at the rest of the music on the shelf, and Zayn stepped out of his way so he could get a better view. “Are these back here all the time?”

Zayn nodded and started walking back over to the area he was sweeping. “Sure are, kid. You can come look at ‘em anytime. I spend a lot of time collecting that shit and putting it back there. I’ll keep an even better lookout if I know you’re the one sorting through it and not some wannabe 90’s kid with a soul music complex.”

Tommy smiled, and the stud-piercing in his cheek caught the light shining in through the front window. Looking past the dreads and the metal and the small amount of ink covering his wrist, Zayn knew Tommy was just a kid trying to find his place in the world through anything he could get his hands on. Hopefully he would start buying some of the music that had meaning to it, instead of whatever the fuck he’d been in here looking for before.

“Thanks, Zayn. I’ll see you next Sunday.”

“Like hell you will, next Sunday Ed and Harry better have their asses up here.”

Tommy laughed and made his way to the register, where Bonnie was finally settling into the flow of the morning’s crowd. The line was only three people long, as opposed to the mile long line the both of them had to deal with at opening. She was accepting cash and bagging like a pro, and Zayn was happy the rush hadn’t been bad enough for him to run the till again before he closed out for the afternoon.

“I love when you do that,” someone says, almost spooking Zayn. He turns around and immediately returns to sweeping when he sees that it’s only Liam. “You could sell water to a well, I tell you.”

He sighs but doesn’t move away when Liam hugs him from behind. Zayn looks down when he hears the crinkling of a paper bag. Sure enough, Liam made good on his promise to bring Zayn something to eat for breakfast. Liam laughed at his excitement as he tore open the bag and left the broom forgotten near a stack of 80’s pop and escaped to The Pit with Liam hot on his trail.

“Hey, wait, that’s not just for you!”

Zayn shrugs and maneuvers around people clogging up the space in the store and lays himself out on the couch. He opened solo while Bonnie lollygagged around in the back calling bars and hotels looking for Ed. She could handle running the front for a while so Zayn could eat breakfast. Liam lifts Zayn’s head from where it’s reclined on the headrest and slides underneath him, settling Zayn’s head in his lap.

“I know you probably already ate something healthy and disgusting before you went on your morning run, so fuck off.” Zayn slaps hard at Liam’s hand when he attempts to steal back the food. “This if from McDonald’s. Your body is a temple, Liam; don’t destroy it with fast food.” Zayn blindly reaches into the bag and pulls out what he assumes to be a muffin, wrapped in advertising paper. “I didn’t even fucking know McDonald’s served breakfast.”

Liam huffs in irritation, and if he thinks that’s going to deter Zayn from devouring the contents of this bag, he’s in for a world of disappointment. Zayn takes a bite into his muffin—he was correct—and is surprised to find that it was _two_ muffins with eggs and cheese in between then, which was really fucking awesome.

“Holy shit,” Zayn says around a mouthful of food, not caring when Liam frowns down at him when tiny bread crumbs spill out of his mouth and down his cheeks, littering Liam’s sports shorts. “Why haven’t I had one of these before?”

Zayn shudders to himself when Liam’s fingers tickle his face while he tries to salvage what’s left of Zayn’s manners and wipe food off of his cheeks. “Because you stick your nose up at anything that takes fifteen minutes or less to make in a restaurant,” Liam says, looking down at Zayn in what he wants to say is a fond manner. “Though, you have no problem being a slob.”

Liam almost causes Zayn to inflict bodily harm when his fingers leave Zayn’s face in turn for scratching lightly at his scalp, which is torturous at all hours of the day, but Zayn is the most susceptible to purring as Liam’s nails scratch just behind his ears during the early morning, when the sun is shining too bright for Zayn to think clearly. He’s not a fucking cat, he isn’t. But his case doesn’t hold up when he tilts his head farther back in Liam’s palm subconsciously and wiggles his nose when a stray crumb falls on his face.

Shit.

Zayn sits up abruptly, pointedly ignoring the glare Bonnie sends him from the register. He keeps his food tucked close to his chest and scoots to the other side of the couch, far away from Liam and his stupid hands.

“Stop fucking touching me, I’m trying to eat, Liam.” He says it jokingly and sticks his tongue out at his best mate for good measure. Zayn screws up his face when Liam yanks him by the arm back onto his side of the furniture, throwing an arm over Zayn’s shoulders, rubbing his arm like Zayn is a dog, and laughing at his annoyance. “If you make me drop this food, you’re buying me more.” He pinched the skin of Liam’s exposed wrist. “And stop trying to pet me. I’m not here for your fucking amusement.”

No one seems to be bothered by their bickering, and Zayn can’t say he would give a shit if they were. Zayn enjoys his food, delighted when he discovers more treats in the bag. Liam’s shirt is thin and cotton and it looks like it would be really fucking nice to fall asleep on, so Zayn is the one to yank Liam closer this time. It’s not a huge shock to anyone that Zayn ends up wedging himself farther into Liam’s side, cozying up to his neck and chest while he finishes his food and debates whether he should get back up or just stay here forever.

“Let me have some of that, babe.”

Zayn’s honestly too tired to put up that much of a fight, so he burrows his face farther into Liam’s shirt and surrenders his food with a lift of his hand. Soon enough, the muffin disappears from his hand and Liam is pressing a kiss to his head that’s slick from the salt and grease in the contents of their breakfast.

On his end, things are still kind of forced. Zayn has to pretend to look in the other direction every time Liam gets a good look at his neck. Liam never brings it up, but Zayn’s not dense enough to think he doesn’t fucking see the bruise hiding under the collar of Zayn’s shirt. And it kills him that Liam thinks Danny might have done that to Zayn’s neck, but he won’t dare say a word about it, and he’s hoping no one else will either. Zayn has to control his body and remind himself that cuddling and touching and _being touched_ by Liam is normal behavior.

It’s a fucking mess.

Zayn thinks he hears Liam ask him if he plans to sleep on him all day, but he’s comfortable and tired and not up to answering questions, so he stays still in his spot and doesn’t say a word. Ed’s had quieted down, and Zayn hadn’t heard the _cha-ching_ of the cash drawer in a while. But because irony was ever-present in Zayn’s life, as soon as he opened his eyes to check for an empty store, Harry bursts through the door with Louis walking calmly behind him.

Zayn’s pressing his face even further into Liam’s chest in hopes of drowning out the noise of Harry’s immediate apologies to Bonnie, and Louis’ inconsiderate cackling.

“I know I’m not on time—I’m sorry.” Zayn hears the distinct sound of something being thrown at Harry. It’s distinct because Harry yelps and Louis practically snarls at whoever is attempting to cause Harry harm. It’s only cool if Louis throws shit at Harry, obviously. “I really am sorry, Bon! It won’t happen again, I swear!”

That’s a lie.

“How are you not going to show up on time for your shift, but once the rush clears, _there you are!”_

Liam and Zayn laugh as Bonnie shouts across the counter at Harry, whose ducking his head sheepishly and apologizing under his breath. Zayn would have thought that since Bonnie had such a lady-boner for young Harold that he would be off the hook, but he’s glad that anger overrides lust in Bonnie’s case, and Zayn’s not the only one who has to keep Harry accountable for this job. It’s never fun having to get on your mate for something as trivial as clocking in on time.

Plus, Zayn wasn’t immune to that dumbly cute face Harry had when he was sad.

“I’m sorry, Bon—”

Liam’s hand works it’s way down Zayn’s arm and he slots their fingers together, Zayn too distracted to stop him while he’s getting a thoroughly enjoyable show watching Bonnie’s face turn red with frustration at Harry’s uncouth regard for timing.

Bonnie waves her hand, dismissing Harry’s words and herding him out the door. “Never mind all of that. Come with me,” she says, sighing loudly when Louis pulls Harry back for a kiss on the cheek. “We’re going to find your good-for-nothing boss. Zayn, watch the front!”

“Yes sir,” he says, laughing harder when Bonnie yells back at him through the glass and angrily gets into her car.

“God, she can be such a twat sometimes.” Louis says, looking out the window until Bonnie pulls off with Harry in tow. “She acts like Harry isn’t late, like everyday. Ed didn’t come home because she’s fucking _crazy._ And I think she likes my boyfriend.”

Zayn snorts and closes his eyes, resuming his former sleeping position. “You think? It’s a bit more than obvious, mate. She’d probably leave Ed in a minute if Harry was willing. And he had a better job. Bon’s on the money-hungry side.”

Louis makes his way over and sits across from them, and Zayn hears his feet hit the coffee table as he makes himself comfortable. He opens his eyes and Louis is staring smugly at Liam and Zayn’s adjoined hands. He winks and Zayn mouths out a well-deserved _‘fuck you’_. Liam is left clueless as Louis titters to himself and Zayn squeezes his hand tighter, pulling his arm closer around him. Louis is a fucking asshole.

“I don’t see why they don’t get divorced if they’re so unhappy with one another,” Liam says, tickling the back of Zayn’s knuckles with his thumb. “It’s not very smart to be with someone if they make you that unhappy. You’ve got to make logical decisions if you’re going to be in a relationship. That’s just unhealthy.”

“Kind of like getting back together with an ex girlfriend that fucked everyone _but_ you? Unhealthy like that?”

Zayn’s eyes snap open and glare at Louis, because he’s not helping _at all._ And Liam tenses underneath him, which isn’t a good sign either. Liam and Louis have always been like that, pushing each other’s buttons extremely too far, and not knowing how to back peddle when one of them has stuck their foot in their mouths. Liam’s chest moved fast under Zayn’s cheek, and Zayn was smoothing his hand back and forth against Liam’s pattering heartbeat and trying not to get fucking turned on by the lock in Liam’s jaw at the same time.

It was a very difficult task.

“Screw you, Lou. Whatever I have or don’t have with Danielle is none of your business. Don’t be a dick.”

Louis isn’t affected by Liam’s words, or if he is, it doesn’t show in the relaxed tapping of his foot the tabletop, or the subtle lift of his brows in consideration of Liam’s harsh tone. Zayn shrugs, _maybe he does need to be in acting school_. Louis flattens imaginary wrinkles on the front of his shirt and crosses his legs at the ankles, the thick muscles of his calves overlapping as Louis stares at Liam with a dare in his eyes.

“Are you mad because I’m right about her or because you’ve always been wrong about her?” Louis starts examining his nails in a casual manner that has Zayn rolling his eyes at the combined petulance of the boys in the room. “All I’m saying is that hindsight is 20/20, and one would think you’d be able to see clearly this time. She’s no good, Liam. Don’t get angry with me for speaking what everyone is thinking.”

Zayn could shoot Louis, he really could. Not only did he throw himself under the bus, but he drug everyone else down with him. Liam might have seen Zayn deflate a little and send Louis an angry stare. Maybe that’s why he was now turning his body to be in direct eye contact with Zayn, who fully intended on pleading the fifth if Liam should ask him any questions about his opinion of Danielle. There weren’t enough curse words in existence to properly address his feelings towards Liam’s ex-girlfriend.

“Is that true, Zayn?”

 _Not happening,_ he thinks, jumping out of Liam’s hold and gathering up his trash. He’s not touching that argument with a ten-foot pole. Any pole at all, really. Louis and Liam can stay angry at one another for days, and Zayn’s never had enough patience for a freeze-out between those two.

“Nope,” he says, dodging Liam’s hands and weaving his way out of The Pit. “If the both of you want to make asses out of yourself by arguing over stupid shit, go right ahead.” Zayn shakes his head adamantly and waves at the customer that walks through the glass doors. “I’m not putting up with that today, I have work to do. The both of you are fucking _children._ ”

“He’s the one that started it,” Liam pouts, folding his arms and glancing over at Louis.

Zayn cannot fucking stand how goddamn adorable he looks when he’s throwing a fit. That shit is not supposed to be cute. It’s supposed to be annoying and infuriating and Zayn is pretty sure it is all of those things, but it still doesn’t cancel out the feelings of fondness Zayn gets when Liam’s lip juts out and his eyes are heavy with sadness. What the hell is wrong with him?

When Louis opens his mouth to no doubt tell Liam something incredibly crude like, _go fuck yourself, Payne,_ Zayn clicks his tongue in denial and looks at the both of them sternly. It’s ridiculous that he has to treat them like he would if he were punishing Waliyha and Safaa. Actually, Zayn’s younger sisters don’t argue nearly as much as Liam and Louis. It’s not irregular for them to get into a tiff, and take it extremely too far, neither one knowing when to stop and apologize. They used to pull this crap all the time when they were younger, Louis stealing Liam’s swimming trunks and Liam hiding whatever source of amusement Louis had that week.  

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Zayn smiled sweetly at the older dude browsing through one of Zayn’s more fond sections. He could have sworn he was a friend of Ed’s, but he couldn’t be certain. His beard was thick and a heavy pair of sunshades sat on his nose. The ragged shirt on his chest and the camouflage sweater tied around his waist made him look like someone Ed would definitely grab a few beers with. But Zayn had other things to deal with, he would place the familiarity of this guy when he split up the two knuckleheads he called best mates.

Zayn brought his attention back to Liam and Louis, and pointed towards the door. “Liam, get out of here and go to practice. Louis, make yourself useful and help me carry crates in from the back.”

Because Liam was always the more cooperative one, he stands up and only looks at Louis a good three times before walking towards the register and leaning over the counter, making Zayn question his sanity by using the countertop as leverage to lift him across the small space and peck Zayn’s cheek.

“I’ll come straight by the park when I get out.” Zayn’s eyes are tracing the lines in Liam’s arms as his muscles flex under his weight. Fuck, this boy was going to be the end of him. Liam knocks his forehead into Zayn’s to grab his attention. “I’m sorry for starting up with Louis.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Zayn mutters, scoffing and squishing Liam’s cheeks between his hands. “Louis is a tit on a good day—”

“Hey!”

“—and you have nothing to be sorry about.”

Zayn pushes Liam back onto his feet and climbs up into his space, flipping off the camera behind him, because if Zayn wants to sit on the damn counter, he _will_ and Bonnie can go screw herself. Liam laughs at his childlike behavior as Zayn tries with major difficulty to sit cross-legged on the tiny surface of the counter. His hands settle on Zayn’s thighs and it sends signals to places that are dangerously close to where Liam’s actual hands are resting, which is bad news. But fuck it.

“Go to swim practice, or whatever.” Liam’s smile is getting bigger, and Zayn brings their faces closer just because he fucking can. Liam’s smile is nice to see up close. “And put on those tiny freaking underwear you insist on calling a uniform—seriously, I’ve seen your junk. No way that’s all fitting in there.” _Not a good rabbit trail to take if you’re trying to get rid of a boner, Zayn,_ he thinks. “But swim your little heart out and come to the park with me and the girls, who are resident members of your biggest fucking fan-club, and they’ll turn that frown upside down.”

Liam stays quiet for a beat too long, and Zayn thinks he’s supposed to feel uncomfortable under Liam’s gaze but he doesn’t. Zayn’s reminded of how easy it is for the both of them to get lost in their own little bubble, Liam communicating how much he appreciates Zayn’s kind words with gentle circles into his upper thigh and Zayn telling Liam he’d gladly defend his honor time and time again with a pat to Liam’s cheek and a sloppy kiss to his forehead.

“Now get out of here,” Zayn says with a lighthearted shove to Liam’s shoulders, “and try not to lose your trousers in the pool.”

Liam chuckles and takes a few steps backwards, making Zayn snort when he bumps his hip into a pile of stacked Blondie records sticking out from the shelf.

“You’re pretty obsessed with my swimming shorts, Zayn—”

“They’re not shorts; it’s a pair of fucking _underwear._ Scratch that, I have underwear longer that those things.”

Liam’s smile is blinding and annoying and cute as fuck, and Zayn has to snicker a few more times because he’s clumsy as hell, and he runs into a handful of things on his way out. Louis’ still in The Pit and it’s not unlikely that he’s scowling and looking at Liam and Zayn with hypercritical eyes. Zayn isn’t worried about him, though, because he was out of line and he’d hurt Liam’s feelings and that was never okay in Zayn’s book.

“You want me to send you a picture of me in ‘em when I get there?” He thinks he’s being cute and coy by winking at Zayn but it’s just aggravating and life-altering. “It’ll give you something to think of while I’m gone.”

“I _want_ you to get the fuck out of my store; that’s what I want you to do.”

Liam laughs to himself and sends Louis a stern look before he finally leaves, waving to Zayn’s only customer, because Liam was frustratingly friendly like that and it appears that he greets random strangers as if it were no big deal. Which, Zayn guesses to him it wasn’t. Being nice was a weird thing; Zayn’s glad Louis convinced him never to try it.

Zayn gives a nod to the old dude walking up and down the isles, signaling to him that Zayn was available if he needed assistance. He was poking through what Zayn was pretty sure was the 70’s rock catalog Harry had put together, and he looked like he’d seen his was around a shop like Ed’s before. He’d fare well enough while Zayn dealt with Louis.

The backroom was hot and stuffy when Zayn pushed aside the homemade curtains that clicked together when the beadings interacted with one another. He can’t count how many times he and Harry had vowed to accidentally set fire to those damn things. Zayn pays too much for hair product to have it fucked up by a piece-of-shit makeshift jewelry draping Bonnie’s sister had made especially for the store. Ed only kept it up for décor purposes, claiming it made the inside of the store look cool and indie and _groovy,_ but its coolness factor did not outweigh the hassle Zayn had to go through to get a fucking can of soda pop when he had to walk through the damn thing.

“Can you believe him,” Louis says when Zayn gets back. Zayn throws a can of whatever Ed kept in the mini-fridge at Louis’ chest and plopped down on the sofa, ignoring the plastic crates that were stacked on the side of the couch waiting to be shelved. “He always gets mad over the littlest of things. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t had a proper workout this morning. Water clears that boy’s head like nothing else I’ve ever seen. He knows I was right or—”

Sunday mornings are the days Zayn really wished Louis was still a year eleven, and he had to practice with the Junior Varsity on the weekends along with Liam. But they were older now, and Louis didn’t have to pull double practices with the younger kids, so Zayn was stuck with him whether he was at work or at home. It was usually nice enough having Louis around as long as Harry wasn’t in near proximity. Though, the last few months Ed and Zayn’s schedule had come back to bite him in the ass, because scheduling Harry to open on the weekends meant that Louis was either hanging around the store or ruining any chance of sleep Zayn was hoping to get.

“I didn’t want to hear Liam’s shit, and I don’t want to hear yours.” The fizz of his drink burned going down Zayn’s throat. It was possibly a bit too early in the morning to be drinking a soda, but he could use the caffeine. “Whatever dumb things you and Li argue about is your business. I really don’t give a fuck.”

Louis doesn’t like being cut off, and Zayn’s aware of that. Louis’ eyes slim down to slits as he stares a hard glare into Zayn. “You sure did care when you thought Danielle was trouble. It’s bullshit that you can tell him something about it but I can’t. Don’t be a hypocrite, you ass.”

One side of Zayn’s body shifts when he shrugs. “I’m over it. Liam’s a big boy; he’s gonna do what he wants, and I can’t stop him.” Zayn doesn’t look at Louis, for reasons such as him being able to spot a lie a mile away, not to mention right under his nose. And if Zayn’s going to sell the whole charade of him being over Liam seeing Danielle again, averting his gaze is the best thing to do. “I told him last night that I was done giving him shit about hanging out with her and I meant it. And honestly Lou, it’s none of your fucking business either. You said what you said to be a tit and you really owe Liam an apology.”

Zayn feels the urge to get out of his chair and slap the shit out of Louis when he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not apologizing for telling him what he needs to hear.”

If the bag of Niall’s forgotten chips goes flying through the air and hits Louis square in the face, it was purely coincidental. The punch on the shoulder on Zayn’s way to the register, though? Totally on purpose.

“Then apologize for being a dick.”

Louis opens his mouth to say something, and even if Ed didn’t come through the door right then, Zayn was fairly certain he would have ignored him anyway.

The clothes on Ed’s back were the same ones he had on the night before, and he had a six string strapped across his back. Solidifying Zayn’s suspicions of Ed being pals with the guy stalking the aisles of the store, the redhead walked up to him and gave him the guitar off of his back and a few bills dangling from his fingertips, sipping out of the bottle he had perched in his other hand.

“You take care of Felix, now, ya hear? He’s a good’n. ‘M gonna need him here in a few nights. I’ll swing by your place and pick him up.” Zayn laughed into his fist at Ed’s drunken slurs. “Thanks for bein’ on the look-out for the old ball-and-chain. I can’t hide this kinda money from her,” he said, chuckling with his friend. “She’ll want me to take her shoppin’ and I’ll shoot myself in the foot if I gotta buy one more purse, man.”

The guy doesn’t speak, just shakes Ed’s hand and starts walking out the front door, throwing Zayn a wave and strolling out of sight. Zayn and Louis stand there in silence and Ed passes by them, slipping into to the side room where Bonnie kept the tapes, coming out with what Zayn suspected was today’s recording and tossing them on the floor, giddily laughing to himself while he jumped up and down on them, destroying whatever evidence his wife might have of that weird exchange between Ed and whoever the fuck was in the store.

“Where the hell have you been, Ed?” Zayn finally regains enough composure to speak while Ed is still having a good ol’ time demolishing a VCR tape.

“I’ve been out, little Malik.”

Louis laughs at the mysterious smile on Ed’s face as he says this, earning him the finger because Zayn’s had enough of Louis’ shit this morning. Ed giggles again, like he’s thirty years younger, and not an old hippie who owns a record store. Zayn’s interested in knowing where the fuck Ed went, and what he took to put him on top of the world like that. He needs some of that, pronto.

“Bonn’s out with Harry looking for your dumb ass. He’s gonna get like, attacked in the backseat of your truck; no bullshit.” Ed stopped wrecking the already broken video and came to stand near Zayn. Zayn’s nose lifted in disgust. “Christ, man. You smell like a fucking bar.”

Ed clicks his tongue at Zayn, unsteadily bending down and setting his bottle on the floor with scary accuracy for someone who’s having trouble standing up straight and speaking in coherent sentences.

When he stands back up, he sticks both of his hands in his cargo shorts and empties out his pockets, scattering more bills than Zayn has ever had the pleasure of seeing all at one time. Again, with a weird amount of finesse, Ed picks up the bills and straightens them into neat piles, taking his time and making Louis and Zayn look nervously at each other, both wondering where the _fuck_ Ed got this kind of money. Zayn really hopes he didn’t rob a bank or some shit. Because he can’t turn Ed in, and he doesn’t want to spend time in the joint for being an accomplice.

Zayn wasn’t kidding when he said he was too pretty for jail.

“Now s’that any way to talk to the guy who just got enough money to pay ya first semester’s tuition?”

Zayn stands there in shock, too dazed to protest when Ed nearly cops a feel trying to shove the money into Zayn’s pockets. Ed pats his cheek and picks up his bottle, nodding to Louis and stumbling to the back like he didn’t just touch Zayn’s junk in order to put stacks of cash into his pants.

Stacks of cash Zayn still does not know the origin of.

“You didn’t st—”

Ed’s hand flies up, his middle finger extending from his palm with his back to Louis and Zayn.

“Fuck you. _No,_ I didn’t _steal_ it.”

Ed just eliminated one of a list of problems Zayn was encountering by entertaining the thought of going to University. A list that was getting shorter and shorter as the days went by.

“Are you sure he didn’t steal it?”

“I heard that, ya little pixie fuck!”

“Make a fairy joke one more time, Firecrotch! I dare you.”

“Ain’t nobody scared o’ya, Tinkerbell. ‘Cept maybe young Harold.”

Louis frowns and folds his arms, watching Zayn as he just feels the money in his pockets. Because he’s never had this money, and if he didn’t know Ed had morals buried somewhere deep, deep down, he would have given it right back. Zayn can’t figure up any way to get a hold of this much money in one night.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate your boss,” Louis asks, resting his elbows on the counter closest to the register, still bugged by the jokes Ed was making. They were amusing to Zayn, but then again, he wasn’t the subject of ridicule. “I really, really hate him.”

Zayn took out a few bills, all large ones, not a single bill resembling any of the small bills Zayn kept in his wallet.

:”Have I ever told you how much I love my boss,” he retorts, grinning to himself when he hears Ed’s familiar snores coming from the back room. “I really, really love him.”

**/////**

Boris was the sweetest dog Zayn’s ever owned. He had a fat snout and short, stubby legs that carried him out to the backyard and past fences, into yards with too many distracting flowers and skittish kittens that he had no problem chasing. Over time, though, he got fat, and too expensive to feed. Even though Zayn suggested at the time that they could just give Waliyha away, Trish insisted that Boris would have to go. Zayn’s mum was forced to give him to someone who could take better care of him.

Luckily Zayn had some pretty awesome neighbors, one in particular, and Mrs. Scott had more than willingly taken the Malik’s family dog into her backyard to run around and keep her company during the day. Mrs. Scott was an older lady, and her grandkids loved throwing tennis balls down the street with Boris when they came over on the weekends. Unfortunately, Mrs. Scott couldn’t get her hip working right for a long enough time to run Boris around the block more than a few times.

Zayn could say it was out of the goodness of his heart that he traveled over a few times a month to escort Boris to the park with the girls, but that would be total bullshit, because he just wanted to spend time with his dog, and he knew Safaa loved it. Waliyha did as well, even if she stuck her nose up at the idea of going to the park with her little sister and _loser_ older brother. Those were her words, not his.

Fuck her; Zayn was cool.

“If your dog tries to eat my dog one more time, I’m hiding all these stupid bacon treats you’re making me haul around in a tree.” Louis herded his yappy, little Chihuahua away from Boris, who for all intents and purposes was trying to see how far Princess would fit into his mouth. “Didn’t you teach him any manners? Honestly.”

If Zayn’s being realistic, any dog named Princess deserves to get bullied just a little bit. That’s like, the most annoyingly cliché name Zayn’s ever heard.

Safaa giggled and gained Boris’ attention long enough for Louis and Princess to escape. Louis’ youngest sisters, Phoebe and Daisy crashed in the grass with Safaa, hesitantly petting around Boris’ ears and on his stomach. Zayn snorted at his old dog when he rolled over onto his back and stuck his tongue out of his mouth, wagging his tail back and forth. Daisy snuck a treat out of Louis’ hand and dangled it near Boris’ snout, smothering a laugh in her hand when he snatched it up with a near smile on his face. If dogs could smile, which Zayn was sure Boris could.

He was so fucking spoiled.

Zayn nearly tripped over Princess and he grumbled out an apology, only to get a high-pitched bark in return and _god,_ he hated small dogs.

“If your dog wasn’t such a pain in the fucking ass—”

“That’s two quarters in the swear jar!”

“—than you wouldn’t have to worry about it,” Zayn finishes dissing the piss-ant of an animal Louis calls a dog and tosses a few coins in Safaa direction, laughing fondly when she dives for them and shoves them in her pocket quickly and goes back to playing with the dog.

“You’re in a lovely mood today,” Louis says, letting his dog off the leash and watching it wag off towards Waliyha and Fizzie, who were far, far away from the bigger dog that had been rough-housing with her. “Who pissed in your cuppa this morning? You were in a right mood before we left Mrs. Scott’s house with Boris.” He stops to scrunch his face. “Actually, that beast would put me in a rotten mood as well. Continue pouting, you’re good at it.”

Zayn ignores Louis, actually surprised at how many times he manages to insult Zayn and the things he cares about in very few sentences. It’s an appealing trait, if you’re an asshole. Which Zayn can kind of say he is, so whatever. He kicks some rocks and wanders around the park until he and Louis find a picnic table with some actual shade, where they can also keep an eye on everyone else—so Phoebe and Safaa don’t do something incredibly stupid like get hit by a car or help Boris chase a cat up a tree.

“Just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

It’s a vague answer and Zayn’s being distant, that’s no news to him. He’ll receive a nice slugging to the arm if he keeps up, but it’s not untrue. Things are running through Zayn’s brain to and fro and he hasn’t really had a chance to sit and process it all since he picked up the phone and dialed Louis’ number last night. He’s currently got stacks of cash sitting in a shoe box at home, money that he doesn’t yet know the origin of.

Zayn’s still not entirely certain Ed didn’t rob a fucking bank, or hold up every convenience store in a mile-wide radius the night before. He’ll have to watch the news tonight, just to be sure.

Louis taps his fingers across the table, hissing when a splinter finds its way into his palm. He does appear to have lightened up from earlier, his tiff with Liam not seeming to be that much of a big deal. Zayn wouldn’t doubt it had a lot to do with him screwing around with his phone for several minutes the second Liam left, probably sending out an apology text and threatening Liam with physical harm if he ever does anything crazy like relay his knowledge of Louis actually having a conscience.

“On a brighter note, I’ve started looking at apartments for the both of us.” Louis doesn’t look very excited, but that could be a product of him hiding his enthusiasm, should Zayn change his mind. And that was ridiculous, because the more Zayn thought about it, the more appealed he was by the idea of school in America. “It’s just a back-up plan, if you don’t get in at USC on your first try.”

“Am I trying a second time?”

Hearing it out loud, it didn’t sound like a horrible idea. He had better grades now than he did when he originally applied, and he’d taken more aptitude tests just for kicks, and his averages were more impressive the second time around. But even if he did apply again, he’d have to wait until Spring to start classes, at least.

“You’re applying as many times as it takes you to get in.” Louis leans across the table to bop his nose, and if he were anyone else, he would have received a slap upside the head. But it was Louis, and Zayn’s learned to expect irritatingly childish shit from him. “I’m not living in a dorm with a bunch of nasty, sweaty boys while you get to live it up in some swanky off-campus apartment. We can both crash somewhere together, and when you get in—”

“If.”

“ _When,_ ” Louis restates, leveling Zayn with a sharp look that reminds him of when he used to get scolded for snatching extra cookies as a child. Zayn sometimes forgets how scary Louis can be. “When you get in, we’ll move back into dorms and live a college life worthy of an MTV television show. But until then, I’ll pretend to stay in my dorm, and we can stay in some shitty apartment with horrible neighbors that have too many cats.”

“You love cats.”

“In small quantities.”

Louis’ plan sounds good to Zayn, great even. He nods and looks around him, feeling nostalgic of his surroundings, knowing in a few months he won’t be able to just walk down the street for a stroll in the park. And he can’t smile at his little sister’s infectious laugh, or roll his eyes when Waliyha blushed every time a member of the opposite sex passed her on the swings. The both of them were fucking absurd at best, but they were two of his favorite people in the entire world.

Zayn would still have Louis, and surely they had parks in California, but that wasn’t at all the point.

“Well if you’re looking, make sure it’s a two bedroom with separate bathrooms.” The way he says it catches Louis’ attention, because Zayn’s confirming the seriousness in his decision, and it’s insufferably adorable how his face lights up at the notion. “’Cause you fucking snore and you’re messy as shit. Not to mention you leave shit all over the sink at your house. I’m not sharing a loo with you.”

Louis kicks him under the table, but Zayn would like to think there’s a bit of fondness there as his toes connect with Zayn’s shin. He’s correct when Louis’ calf wraps around Zayn’s and he grips his hand over the table tightly with appreciation. God, he’s such a fucking sap.

“Me leaving a little hair in the sink has _nothing_ on the amount of products you keep in your bathroom just for _your hair._ ”

Zayn shrugs, because fuck Louis. Zayn’s seen his collection of hair product, and he’s not exactly low-maintenance either. Also, one cannot date Harry Styles and comment on the amount of work that should go into styling one’s hair.

-

Louis and Zayn discuss patterns and living arrangements for over an hour. You could call it an argument, because it might have been just a bit heated. No fucking way was Zayn decorating his living room in stripes. He wasn’t decorating _any_ room in stripes. That was just a solid no, and he didn’t see his mind changing any time soon.

And Louis seemed to be adamant about objecting to a musically-themed bathroom, (“I’m not looking at Bob Marley while I have to take a fucking piss, Zayn!”) so they bickered back and forth until Zayn could hear the rumble of Liam’s pick-up, and he left Louis to argue with himself at the table for reasons that included his dislike of the color red and an aversion to the idea of having cats in the apartment.

“I’m not done talking about this!”

“Yeah,” Zayn said, looking back over his shoulder and giving Louis the finger, making sure Safaa didn’t see, because she was cleaning him out in the change department these days. “Well I’m done listening. No one in their right mind wants a neon orange kitchen, mate. That’s just absurd.”

Louis hauls himself up from the table and catches up to Zayn fairly quickly. Neither of them has yet to spot Liam’s truck, but both of them can hear the engine of a big vehicle turning over in the parking lot, and Zayn sees Waliyha run in that direction, but his view is still distorted by the large amount of fucking trees scattered everywhere.

Louis loops his arm through Zayn’s and their discussion (read: fight-to-the-death, because Zayn is _not_ getting a cat under any circumstances) dies down, the reason being neither of them want anyone to overhear them. Louis still has no idea how to tell Harry, and Zayn’s not even entertaining the idea of letting Liam know he’s going to school so far away.

Zayn’s kind of happy Liam showed up, he thinks. The girls will have someone to hang out with, and maybe Liam can drag Louis off somewhere so Zayn can take Boris over to the creek for a few minutes, just like he used to when he was a kid, and his dog was a little more slim and a lot younger. And maybe Liam would come find him and sit in the grass, grimacing about his dumb pants getting damp, and he would convince Zayn to sit down with him, and Boris would follow. And there they would be, the three of them piled up and enjoying the silence before Safaa found them and dragged them back to the swings, because she was still too short to push herself.

Yeah, a day at the park sounded really fucking good right about now.

A rock is nearly the cause of Zayn falling over in the dirt and busting his face open, but Louis manages to finagle the both of them in a way that has _him_ on the ground and Zayn standing up, holding out a hand to pluck Louis from the grass.

“Whoa there,” someone yells, and it’s Liam. Zayn can tell its Liam, because he knows his voice, and he still sounds really fucking overjoyed that Louis is now rubbing stains out of his jeans, even if Zayn thinks they’ve already made up after this morning. Children; they’re all children. “I think your _feet_ are supposed to be on the ground, Lou, not your bum. Something about gravity and all that.”

“You can shove my apology up your ass, Payne,” Louis says, but he sticks his tongue out in what Zayn assumes is Liam’s direction, and it makes Zayn breathe a little easier knowing it’s all done in jest, and he won’t have to deal with the both of them being incredibly whiny today. “See how much you know about gravity then, you bugger.”

Zayn’s too busy assuring Louis that no, he doesn’t have grass stains on his ass and thanking him profusely for taking the fall just so Zayn wouldn’t have to, that he doesn’t even notice who all gets out of Liam’s truck until Niall and Eleanor come stomping towards him. El looks like she’s on a rampage, her mouth drawn down into a frown and her arms crossed over her chest. Zayn doesn’t miss the irony of dodging a bullet with Louis and Liam, only to have Eleanor’s sour mood be brought to his attention. He wonders what the fuck her problem could possibly be.

Zayn swears he’s going to knee her in the thigh if it has anything to do with Mit—

And then he sees Danielle gets out of the passenger seat, and he sort of, kind of understands.

“Since when do _I_ have to sit in the backseat for _Danielle?”_ Zayn brings his hand to his face, massaging the space between his forehead and nose, trying to shield his eyes from view so no one can see them roll into the back of his fucking head. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been friends with Liam long enough to earn a seat up front. She’s just fucking ridiculous. This is fucking ridiculous.”

Zayn knows Eleanor isn’t angry at Danielle for riding in the front of the cab with Liam. Or at least Zayn hopes she isn’t, he prays she’s not that insane. It’s hard to tell these days, though, really. If Liam is giving Niall and El a ride, not to mention Danielle, that means they had practice this morning as well, and cheerleading makes Eleanor a major bitch.

Just like, really bitchy.

“ _You’re_ being fucking ridiculous, come over here you big baby.”

Louis holds out his arms to envelop Eleanor in a hug, that’s probably much-needed considering her hate for all things peppy and spandex this early in the morning. But she swipes at his hands and crowds herself near Zayn, kicking out at Niall when he tries to form a group hug.

“I didn’t want to hug you anyway,” Louis mutters defiantly, sticking his pointed nose in the air and creating his own group hug with Niall and whichever of his little sisters was in the closest proximity. “You don’t get to bitch and moan over Danielle. I call dibbs, after Zayn of course.” Louis comes closer to swat at Eleanor’s behind. “So stop crying and come play nice.”

Eleanor looks up at Zayn for confirmation, like he’ll be able to get her out of it somehow. This is laughable at best, because if Zayn knew how to wiggle his way out of speaking to Danielle in a setting that wasn’t absolutely mandatory, he would be using it for himself. He shrugs and kisses her forehead, unwrapping her arms from around his waist and turning around, offering his back for a piggy-back ride. To which she accepts, because she’s really just a big fucking kid.

“Let’s go, kiddo.”

Zayn marches off with Eleanor’s legs around his middle and her arms damn near choking him to death. Louis, Fizzie and Niall are right behind them and Zayn is trying rather hard to configure a way to give Danielle the finger at her less than pleasant response to their approach, and do it without dropping Eleanor on her ass.

When Zayn is standing next to Liam’s truck, he deposits El on the hood and sighs heavily when he’s immediately scooped up and his face is being attacked by Liam’s lips. Zayn’s annoyed, and with good cause. It’s become a habit for Liam to cover Zayn’s face in obnoxiously loud smooches, in every spot sans for his lips. It’s sweet and so _Liam,_ but in the same instance it makes Zayn want to pull his hair out.

And that’s saying a lot, hence there not being many things Zayn loves more than his hair.

All of their friends laugh, except Danni, but Zayn doesn’t really count her as a friend, so whatever. She’s also the only one to cough rather loudly, clearly not as amused as everyone else is. If Zayn’s hands accidentally end up on Liam’s back, dangerously close to his bum, then it’s a pure coincidence.

Liam stops, and Zayn can’t say he’s pleased with the flush of embarrassment that graces his features. It makes him a little hot under the collar, even more so when Liam throws Danielle an apologetic look and distances himself away from Zayn, just a little. Enough for him to notice, and enough for El to glare daggers that would be sure to pierce Danielle’s soul, if only looks could kill. Or maim. Whichever worked.

“It is okay that I brought her along,” Liam asks when Niall and Lottie finally drag Danielle away, and Louis, El and Zayn are left with Liam in front of the truck. Zayn doesn’t miss the way Liam immediately gravitates towards Zayn once he’s sure Danielle is gone, and their fingers innocently thread together and Liam’s face is alarmingly close to his. “It is, right? I thought you guys might want to get to know her again?”

“I already know her, and she’s a bit—“

“Eleanor.”

“She asked me if I always wore my hair like this. Like, just say you think my hair sucks, geez.”

“She did not say that.”

“ _Totally_ did. Asked me if I had any other clothes, too.”

“And you didn’t hit her?”

“Had to ask Zayn first.”

“I’m sure he’d let you,” Louis snorts, and it’s the way Liam’s face tightens, as well as the grip he has on Zayn’s hands that makes him speak up and tell El and Louis to shut the fuck up. Zayn’s starting to realize how insensitive all of them can be. “He hates her more than all of us com—”

“Hey,” Zayn says, fighting every moral fiber in his being as he defends the one person whose eyes he would like to scratch out. “No one’s hitting anyone, and I don’t hate anyone either. Stop your yammering and go get some exercise. Or and get me something to eat. I’m starving.”

Louis walks away without comment, yanking El off the hood none too gently and prancing away to the playground in the middle of the park. Liam’s head ducks into Zayn’s neck, his breath dampening the skin at Zayn’s collar, and the small hairs on his chin are making Zayn yearn to itch at the side of his face. Eleanor sends Zayn a look that he reads as: _It’s not fair that you get to secretly hate her and I don’t,_ and Zayn can probably deal with her aggravation later. If not, he doesn’t cares all that much.

“Thank you for that.” Liam says, pressing Zayn even farther into the grille of his vehicle and stretching out their hands, indecisive about whether or not he wants to play idly with Zayn’s fingers or hold his fucking hand. “They all have good reasons not to like her, I guess.” Well yeah, Zayn thinks. “And you do too, ‘cause you’re just looking out for me. So thanks for giving her a chance. I-I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. Thanks for not hating her—”

“I really do kind of hate her,” Zayn whispers, because Liam’s being open and honest with him, and the smile Zayn can feel Liam spreading is his neck makes him want to return the favor. “I really, really hate her. But if you want to play nice with her and take her on picnic dates with your friends, I’m fine with that. Plus, I can’t say with a clear conscience that this isn’t all purely selfish on my part.”

“How is that, babe?”

Zayn’s gonna start punching Liam in the throat every time he calls him that.

He pushes Liam backwards, towards the rest of the excitement and their friends. And Danielle, whose eyes have yet to leave Liam and Zayn. Which is heinously petty and mildly amusing in Zayn’s perspective. Liam is forced to release one of Zayn’s hands, keeping the other one laced tightly with Zayn’s fingers as they journey towards where Niall is pushing El on the swings, and Waliyha and Lottie are giving Danielle the third degree, enough so that he almost considers buying them something, anything, just because it makes him laugh a whole fucking lot on the inside.

Zayn looks back at Liam. He has to because he’s practically dragging him along at this point.

“Because I really want to be around when Eleanor punches the fuck out of Danielle.”

Liam huffs out a laugh and jerks Zayn to backwards and into his chest, making Zayn question why he ever let Liam join a gym when he’s lifted in the air and thrown over Liam’s shoulder, left kicking and screaming to be put down. He’s not a fucking _child,_ goddamn it. Zayn is no where near small enough to be carried around at will.

“Always about violence with you, mate.”

Zayn’s going to show Liam violence, so much violence when he’s put down. And it only dawns on him that the even of his feet touching the ground isn’t going to occur any time soon as Liam climbs the jungle-gym with Zayn still hooked over his shoulder.

_So much fucking violence._

-

Zayn’s already been at the park long enough for his patience to run out. It’s too hot and he didn’t plan on it being this loud. More kids show up eventually, and Zayn has to fight a little girl for a swing. But Liam pushes him, so he doesn’t feel that bad about it. Life’s rough, the kid’s going to have to learn that sooner or later. Still, he makes El get off of her swing, just so the tyke can stop crying, and because somewhere deep, deep down, Louis says Zayn has a heart.

Putting Zayn in an even worse mood is Danielle’s presence that’s constantly being thrown in his face. If she’s not attached to Liam at the hip, complimenting his ability to push a swing or brushing nonexistent sand off of his shoulder, she’s standing in the background being a creeper. Zayn isn’t sure which one is worse or more annoying, but by the third time Danielle requests that Liam take a walk with her, Zayn’s about ready to head out to the creek with Boris.

Only he can’t, seeing as Niall is currently dragging him in the opposite direction of his hiding spot and throwing a stick for Boris to chase after.

“I need your help, brother.”

Zayn looks at him incredulously. “You couldn’t have asked first, or something?”

Anger isn’t an emotion that one can hold against Niall, because he’s Niall. He’s cheeky and happy and a good fifty-percent of the time Zayn just wants to hug him. Niall leads Zayn to a patch of grass that’s pretty much free of stickers, and El is sitting next to a tree, tying up her sneakers and wrapping her hair in a ponytail. Zayn groans, knowing what’s coming next.

“Let me guess,” Zayn says. “You guys learned a new move at practice and neither of you can do it for shit?”

Eleanor shook her finger at Zayn and pointed to Niall. “ _He_ can’t do a back-tuck for shit. I can do them just fine. He keeps concentrating so hard on how to do one that he’s screwing up routines and trying to kill me.”

“You didn’t even fall that hard,” Niall mutters, pouting.

“Wait. You dropped her?”

_“On my fucking head.”_

Zayn nods, holding his hands up defensively when Eleanor slugs him in the arm once she sees him holding back a laugh. “Does this have anything to do with your sudden hatred for Danielle?”

Eleanor sneers at him, but Zayn doesn’t think he’s wrong based on the flash of guilt that flashes across her face. There are times when Zayn forgets how much younger El is, and how much growing up she has to do where her temper is concerned. She’s also more protective than anything, not taking it kindly when new people encroach on the friends it took her so long to make.

Zayn remembers dragging El home countless times when she got shit-faced drunk, and Zayn and Louis were responsible for sneaking her back into her house. She told the two of them that their little group of friends were the best thing that had ever happened to her, and standing there now, watching her face flush at her petulance made Zayn want to cry. He was leaving Eleanor behind, and though he had no doubt she would always be one of his best friends, he wouldn’t be around to see the bright young lady she would grow up to become in the few years he would be gone.

Not that El wasn’t bright, per se—well she had her moments. Zayn would be back to see the after effects that her final years of college had on her, but he would miss the gist of everything. He wouldn’t be around to drag her out of bed and drive her to school, only stopping for Starbuck’s because she was insufferable without it. Mitch would probably break her heart many more times before this year was even over, not to mention what bullshit El would put up with without Zayn to tell her she was being fucking stupid. And Zayn would be too far away to shove his foot up Mitch’s ass.

Eleanor was like his sister in so many ways and it didn’t feel right keeping such a huge secret from her.

But he’s being overly-sentimental and it’s making his skin crawl with a sense of guilt that doesn’t coincide well with his nonchalant attitude, so he snaps the fuck out of it and pays attention to the words coming out of El’s mouth.

“I dislike Danielle because she’s mean and she looks at Liam like he’s a piece of meat—which, okay, I get it, he’s fit as hell, but damn. He’s not a trophy, _honestly._ ”

Zayn laughs, because she sounds so much like Louis, and then he gets choked up, so he ventures off of that train of thought.

“I thought you said it had something to do with those texts on your phone?” Niall’s closer to Zayn now, picking at the lint on his shirt and looking at El skeptically. “You know, the ones you sent to Liam. Weren’t those about Danielle? _Christ,_ Zayn, has this always been there?!”

Zayn’s too caught up in the fact that El still has those damn text messages to pay attention to Niall pulling down his collar and prodding at the mark Louis did a shit job of covering up with his mum’s concealer that afternoon. Eleanor looks down at the ground and kicks some dirt with her shoe, trying to avoid Zayn’s bulging eyes, because she never kept her drunken texts and out of _all_ the ones she could choose to keep, these were most likely the worst ones yet.

Other than those nude pictures she accidentally sent to Niall’s phone while he was in church. But that had been funny, this was not.

Not to Zayn, at least.

“You didn’t delete those?!” Zayn isn’t angry, and he doesn’t really have a right to be even if he was. He was just upset and confused and irked that El recalled that night via text messages, and that meant she knew about Liam landing a hickey on Zayn’s neck—the same one Niall was staring at in amazement, still not puzzling the pieces together. “I thought you deleted all your drunk dials? Does that mean—do you _know?_ ”

“About the giant eyesore on your neck, yeah I know.” She bends down, hissing when her knee pops, but it doesn’t stop her from fielding a rock and tossing it hard at Niall, in an area that’s not safe if the youngest Horan ever plans on reproducing children. “And you were supposed to keep your mouth shut, Niall. Thanks for nothing.”

“I didn’t know we weren’t telling Zayn!” Niall defends, sighing in frustration. “You never tell me these things!”

Eleanor palms her face and drags her hand dramatically down her cheek. “Oh my god, we’re all a mess.”

“No shit,” Zayn says, taking off his shoes, and letting the events of the day dissolve with a roll of his shoulders.

Deep breaths, he reminds himself. A hand falls to his stomach and he works on regulating his breathing, coming to terms with the fact that his secret is no longer his. Who knows what the fuck Niall recalls from that night. Zayn’s going to let it go, pretend it never happened and move on with his life. The recollection of his new beginning being right around the corner makes it a lot easier for air to pass to his lungs, and he catalogs the easy smile on Niall’s face as an apologetic one, and the slightly crooked grin Eleanor gives him tells Zayn everything will be just fine.

Or as fine as it can fucking get with Zayn’s karma and uncanny habit of screwing things up.

“If we’re gonna do this, let’s get a move on it, yeah?” The words come easy out of Zayn’s mouth, and he scoffs at the combined shock of their raised eyebrows and unsure glances at his cavalier tone of his voice. “What? You want to stand around and talk about how I made an ass out of myself in front of Liam? Or how he doesn’t remember jack-shit of what happened? Or do y’wanna get your lazy butts over here so I can go over this trick with you?”

El is quick to admit she actually does want to mull over Zayn’s problems like some good-for-nothing therapist, which shouldn’t be as surprising as it actually is. She says, “I wouldn’t mind going with the first one,” just as Niall shrugs and speaks around a mouthful of chocolate that Zayn hadn’t seen earlier. “I’m good with the flips. ‘M not much for the Dr. Phil gig m’self.”

Unapologetically ignoring Eleanor’s protests, Zayn prods the ground with his foot to check for stickers. He stretches out the muscles in his legs, and then his back because it’s been a few weeks since Niall roped him into teaching him the specifics of certain gymnastic-type routines their coach had sprung on them.

“Cheerleading tricks it is then, folks,” Zayn snaps, grimacing when a sticker pricks itself into the bottom of his foot.

“You’re no fun,” El announces, making it very easy for Zayn to overlook her while she sulks, his tolerance for school-age tantrums relatively high, a result of having two kid sisters and Louis for a best mate. “And for the record, that hickey makes you look like a hoe. An absolute hoe.”

Zayn opens his mouth to tell her exactly where she can shove her opinions, but she holds her hands up and laughs at him, even though he has no idea what the fuck is so funny.

“That’s all I’m saying on the matter, I promise.” She coughs into her fist and helps Zayn place Niall’s feet in the right formation for a back-tuck, bumping his hip when she’s close enough to Zayn while they’re waiting for Niall to finish his admittedly awful interpretation of what he thinks is a back-tuck. “But if Liam can suck on your neck like that, imagine what he can do to your _di—”_

Zayn cups a hand over her mouth, because he’s heard just enough out of her for today.

Also, he’s already thought about that.

**/////**

Niall is still as crappy at gymnastics as he’s always been, and just as he always does, Zayn starts to wonder why he joined the cheer squad when he can’t even do half the shit that’s required of them. But when a leggy brunette jogs past them and Niall stops to salivate, Zayn remembers that Niall’s a complete horn-dog, meaning a majority of the things he commits to connect back to his appreciation of the female population. Eleanor has to kick him in the ankle to regain his concentration. It’s not an unusual thing; Niall nodding off after some girl and Eleanor bruising him in order to get him back on track.

Zayn’s sweating out of his shirt, but he doesn’t want to rip off his clothes because there are children around, and he doesn’t like the way some of their mothers are eyeing him already. He can only imagine how the stares will increase if he’s half naked. His shirt sticks to his skin and he’s craving the freshness of a shower, hot or cold, he doesn’t care. Zayn crashes to the ground, his muscles silently thanking him for the reprieve.  

His brain is a mess of chants, routines, and steps that he has no business remembering. But Niall is filled to the brim with the knowledge of how to lift Eleanor, concentrate on the proper way to execute a series of steps and maneuvers, cheer, and not drop anyone on their ass. Anymore than he already has, which has been a hilarious amount in the time they’ve spent at the park.

“ _Shut the fuck up,_ ” El pants, glancing over at the park and collapsing on Zayn’s legs. She offers him a bottle of water, to which he greedily accepts. “If she screams one more time, I’m punching her in the face. I’m serious. There will be actual punching.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, due to his recent moral compromise to not drag Danielle’s name through the mud any more than he already has. And she’s not making it particularly easy when she’s running around the park squealing her brains out while Liam chases her around the swings and under the monkey bars. Zayn sort of wants to stab himself in the heart, but he feels like someone has already done that, and it’s amplified upon seeing Liam finally catch up to Danni and swing her around, throwing his head back in laughter as she thrashes about.

Fuck, they’re annoying.

“I don’t know how you can even hear her over your sister hollering at the top of her lungs,” Niall remarks, snatching El’s water from Zayn’s hands. Rude. “Man, I do not envy having kids around the house that scream for no reason. But yeah, Danni’s kinda gettin’ on my nerves too.” Niall lies down in the grass and drops his head into Zayn’s lap, pushing his forehead under Zayn’s hand to get his hand in Niall’s mess of hair. “You think—you think she’s gonna be around permanently? I thought you two were—”

Zayn raises a questioning brow.

“I don’t know, I thought you were something,” he reiterates, trying to make his point clearer, but making Zayn’s vision blurry with aggravation instead. Not at Niall, just at the situation. Maybe even at himself. “They’ve got a bad past and all, don’t they?”

“Super bad,” Eleanor answers for him, and the look she sends Zayn lets him know it was purposeful. She was saving Zayn from having to say anything. “They dated for three years, one of them being long-distance,” she notes, even though all of the information she has is second-hand from Zayn and the way she goes on about it is silly in his mind, but he lets her continue.

“She was cheating on him the whole time she was away. Liam found out on _Facebook._ Some guy had a picture of him and Danielle making out, and he messed up and tagged her in it. Liam messaged him, and he said he hooked up with her at her most recent ex-boyfriend’s party.” Eleanor pauses for dramatic effect, cueing an eye roll from Zayn. “An ex who wasn’t Liam.”

“Wow.” Niall nuzzles into Zayn’s hand, but he does well to look shocked, clearly appeasing El because he’s probably already heard several different versions of this story. “That’s pretty messed up. Well maybe she’s changed now. People grow up; I figure they could give it a shot. I mean, if you and Liam aren’t—whatever it is you aren’t, I guess.”

Leave it to Niall to give the simplest advice in the most complicated of ways.

Zayn so does not want to be part of this discussion right now, or ever. And he vows to buy Safaa all of the stuffed elephants in the world for coming to his rescue right then, at the perfect time.

She comes running along, Phoebe and Daisy following after her, all of their cheeks red from a mix of exertion and sunlight. Saf takes no consideration of Niall’s comfort, pushing his head aside and crawling her way into Zayn’s lap, clapping his cheeks with her hands. She looks like she’s had a long day, her hair roaming in all different directions, Louis’ siblings not faring much better as Eleanor gives them each tight hugs and tickles their bellies.

Safaa pokes his nose and he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, too lazy to make her shake out her hair band so he can gather her strands and reorganize them into their original ponytail.

“Are you having fun, baby girl?”

She nods cheerily and reenacts her day to Zayn, her hands running wild as she tells him stories of her make-believe adventures she had with her friends, and he laughs when she whispers low in his ear, giggling about how she tricked Waliyha during a game of hide-and-seek. Zayn leans back on his hands and watches her as she talks, almost a mile a minute. Something in his heart pulls as she goes on and on, and Zayn realizes how big she’s gotten, and how grown up she is.

It feels like only yesterday that he was rocking her to sleep and laying her down gently in her crib.

“But now I want to swing, but LiLi is with that girl, and Lou is playing hop-scotch with Lottie.”

Safaa smiles sweetly at Zayn, and he groans, because he really doesn’t want to get up right now and push his little sister on the swing. He’s tired and sore and he wants to sleep for-fucking-ever, but she got those stupid puppy-dog eyes from Liam and she damn well knows how to use them.

“Will you—”

“How about we push Bubba on the swing set, doll?” El gets to her feet at a pace that makes Zayn’s bones creak just watching her. Phoebe and Daisy are already off, running with Niall to the rock-wall, and it’s more like a drag, because Niall is pretty much dead weight at this point in the day. Eleanor sticks both of her hands out, one for Safaa and one for Zayn. “He’s been teaching silly Niall stuff all afternoon, so how does it sound if we give him a break for being so nice, huh?”

“Okay!”

Zayn somewhat hates how enthusiastic she sounds.

“Let’s go Bubba!”

That’s how Zayn is yanked—that’s all he can really describe the way the two of them manhandle him all the way to the playground—closer to the oh so enjoyable sounds of Danielle’s faux yells for help. He’s propelled dangerously far in the air as Eleanor and his sister take turns hurling him into the air.

He’s really starting to wonder what the hell he thought was so appealing about coming to the park.

It’s definitely not the idea of almost falling out of the goddamn sky when El pushes him to fucking high the chain kinks and jerks him back down way too fast to be even remotely safe.

“Uh-oh,” she says.

“Fuck yeah, _uh-oh!”_

“That’s money for the swear jar!”

Yeah, Zayn hates the fucking park.

-

Eleanor told Zayn he was pouting, but fuck El, because she was no stranger to a long face. Zayn remembers with great clarity the amount of times he’s had to drag her out of a corner and make her breathe air outside of her bedroom when Mitch did something that made El’s eyes water and Zayn’s fists clench. At that, she can screw off and let Zayn propel himself forward on the swing, seeing as there’s no way in hell he’s letting her and Safaa be the determining force behind his fate, should he go flying across the playground.

The sun is going down, and the sky reminds Zayn of summer and freedom and long nights on the beach back at his grandparent’s house. Of course that makes him nostalgic and silent, and his friends are labeling that as broody, or whatever else they call Zayn in their spare time. He has to admit he does have the perfect cheekbones to pout, but that’s not why he’s doing it at all. Not that he’s pouting. He’s not—fuck.

He is.

He’s pouting and he really can’t say he cares who knows it. He spends more time on the swing than he planned to, and he’s still rising and falling when the sun turns the sky gradient shades of pink and orange, and the park empties out.  It’s finally quiet enough for Zayn to hear the steady tinkling of the creek hidden in the barrage of trees at the perimeter of the park. Zayn goes higher and higher, finally figuring out that the farther he is from the ground, the less susceptible his ears are to piercing from the high frequency of Danielle’s screeches and laughter.

She came over earlier, when Liam left to go get everyone something to eat, and suddenly she didn’t have anyone to bother. Apparently that meant she was supposed to waltz over to Zayn and start up a chat. The only reason Zayn didn’t ignore her is because he told Liam he would try. And Liam had been so fucking nice about it, even kissed his neck and everything when he thanked Zayn for not being a complete dick.

Meaning Zayn would suck it up and smile, just until Liam got back and she could go stick her head up someone else’s ass.

“So how have you been?” Her first question comes out entirely too cheery, and Zayn has to bite his tongue not to tell her to fuck off immediately. She sits gingerly in the swing beside Zayn. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to you. Remember when we used to—”

“No,” comes blurting from Zayn’s mouth.

He doesn’t want her bringing up how Zayn used to follow her and Liam around, because Liam was persistent and he never wanted Zayn to be at home alone. Zayn isn’t too keen on remembering having to come to terms with his feelings for Liam towards the end of his relationship with Danielle, when Liam would cry on his shoulder and completely fucking ruin all of his good shirts. He doesn’t want to remember how Liam can’t even listen to Taylor Swift, because it still reminds him of—actually Zayn might have to thank her for that one, if he’s being honest.

There’s only so much one can hear about never, ever getting back together with someone. Even if he thinks that’s a song Liam needs to have on repeat at the moment, but whatever. You pick and choose your battles.

“Look,” she says, not deterred by Zayn’s abrupt interruption. One he should apologize for. He snorts out loud; he doesn’t really see that happening. “I know you probably hate me—”

“I don’t.” He does.

“He _probably_ hates you? _Probably?”_

“Eleanor, shut up.”

Danielle coughs into her hand, and Zayn closes his eyes so doesn’t roll them. She’s going to play the guilt card if he doesn’t show her a little more kindness, which she’s done nothing to deserve. But Zayn figures she’s probably done nothing to deserve the cold shoulder he’s giving her either. At least nothing recently.

Zayn skids to a stop and Danni looks up and smiles. He doesn’t smile back. It’s not out of bitterness; he just doesn’t feel like smiling. Okay, it may be out of bitterness. Zayn quit swinging for this, she better get a move on.

“Like I was saying before _someone_ interrupted me,” she begins, moving her head so she can see around Zayn and glare at Eleanor for her disruption. That alone amuses Zayn more than anything, because the gawk that comes out of El’s mouth is priceless. “I know you probably hate me, and you have a good reason to. I know you and Liam are close. That’s obvious.” Zayn’s eyes fall to her leg, which is bouncing up and down with nerves. She looks over at him and moves a piece of hair that’s sticking to her forehead. “I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried about anything,” Zayn denies, scoffing and giving El the finger when he turns to see her looking at him suspiciously. “I wasn’t,” he assures the both of them. “Trust me; I know that you’re no one to worry about. I’m not worried about _you._ Like, _at all._ ”

That might have came out a little harsh than he intended it to, but Danielle takes it well enough and she nods in understanding. Zayn tries really hard to take the innocence in her hesitant movements seriously, but he fails. Like she said before, he has a good reason to. Zayn might have said he doesn’t worry about Danielle, and he doesn’t. He’s concerned about Liam, and no one else. Zayn could really give less of a fuck about what happens to her.

As mean as that sounds.

“I think things will be better this time around.  I don’t plan on hurting Liam.”

Just like that, Zayn’s day goes to shit, and the beginnings of a headache form in the forefront of his brain. Zayn could sit there and feel sorry for himself; wonder why Danielle is allowed a second pass at Liam when Zayn never took one in the first place. He could wallow in his emotions and cry like a fucking girl, but he’s not going to do that. Zayn’s going to count down the days until he can resurface and breathe in fresh air without the shape of Liam’s smile lingering in the back of his mind, or the faint smell of him clinging to Zayn’s nose.

Luckily for him, Eleanor has appointed herself as Zayn’s spokesperson, and instead of having to gather the wanderings of his wits quickly enough to respond to Danielle, El does it for him.

“I don’t think anyone ever really plans on hurting someone in the first place.” She kicks up sand, and with his peripherals, Zayn can see both girls looking past him to get their eyes on one another. “Things just turn out that way. You’ve heard the saying, right? Bad things happen to good people. I don’t care if you date Liam or if your lips are just permanently attached to his ass, but don’t be that bad thing. Not again. Liam’s a good person.”

Zayn sits there in shock; the reason being he’s never heard that many civilized words come out of El’s mouth in regard to Danielle.

“I know he’s a good person,” Danielle says, eyes sharp and knuckles white from her grip on the swing.

“Then be careful with his fucking heart, Danni.”

There’s the El they all know and love.

Danielle stands up and so does Eleanor, Zayn’s staying seated. No fucking way is he getting into the middle of a catfight. Actually, he can’t even remember the last time he’s spoken. If he’s not talking between them, he is most certainly not _stepping_ between them.  

Danielle opens and closes her mouth, and if he wasn’t scared of making a sound in fear of getting slapped, he would laugh at the visual. To Zayn, it looks like Danielle is looking for something to say, and she eventually settles on, “Don’t call me Danni. Only my friends call me Danni.”

It’s a terrible comeback, and Zayn has to say he’s a little disappointed. He expected so much more from her in ways of entertaining bitch fights. That thought passes through Zayn’s mind again, and he decides he’s really got to stop watching The Bad Girl’s Club with El and Louis.

Eleanor almost scoffs at her retort and her hands fall to her hips. She leans the top of her body forward, stands of hair falling out of her ponytail and crowding around her face and neck. “Well I’ll stick to calling you Danielle then, because I’m definitely _not_ your friend.”

Zayn’s proud to say he was one-half the founder of every bit of sass that was instilled into Eleanor at that moment. As quick as it all began, it was over and Danielle was heading one way and El was stomping off in the other. Zayn sat there and replayed the conversation over in his head, trying to recall any moments where he was less than cordial to Danielle, moments that she could use against him later, and he comes up short.

Zayn shrugs and kicks off of the ground, throwing himself backwards and feeling a sense of contentment rush over him when he’s back in the air. He’s got to remember to come here more often. Besides girl fights and guilt trips, swinging had been pretty awesome for him so far.

**/////**

Danielle is back to squealing; only now it’s closer to Zayn and he literally can’t swing any higher to escape the noise. Liam brought back food for everyone, and Zayn could hear him calling out, ordering Zayn to come eat. But Zayn wasn’t a fucking lapdog, so he stayed exactly where he was at, and when Liam sent Louis over to wrangle him up, all it took was a look in the eyes and Louis knew to leave Zayn alone for just a while.

Louis, Waliyha, and Fizzie are doing well to add to the raucous of sound now, playing a game of footie with a ball Liam had in the back of his truck. Louis screams and yells in victory _and_ defeat, but when the fuck is Louis ever quiet? El is off somewhere with Liam and Danielle, and maybe Safaa went with them as well, being that Zayn can hear her, but he can’t see her. Liam’s laughter rings through the trees, all the way to Zayn’s ears as well. It annoys him quite more than it should that Liam’s having that great of a time with Zayn nowhere in sight.

What’s worse is the more time Zayn has to himself, the more time he has to over-think. Which fucking sucks, because Harry tells Zayn all the time that he has the biting ability to think of every worst scenario possible before he sees the light and realizes how unreasonable he’s being. That leaves him wondering how Liam will take the news that Louis and Zayn will be leaving at the end of the upcoming summer, if not sooner. Zayn questions how sad Liam will be now that he has someone new to occupy his time.

_Things will be better this time._

Not that Zayn’s worried about Danielle taking his place as Liam’s best friend—over his dead fucking body, is the only way that will ever happen—but they have _history_ and should they ever decide to rekindle whatever fucked up relationship they had, it’s still more than Zayn has ever had with Liam by those standards. And Zayn’s man enough to say that yeah, that kind of stings. A lot.

“Careful there, Zayner. If you go too much higher, you’re gonna fly up into space, and we won’t be able to get you down.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall come.

“That’s so funny. Really, you’re a comedic genius.” Zayn sasses, continuing to swing out of lack of desire to talk to Liam right now.

Zayn’s trying to be mad, or sad, or _something._ He doesn’t want Liam coming along and ruining that with a cheeky grin or a quirky smile. Liam looks pleased with himself as he leans up against the railing that holds up the swings, stretching the shit out of the sleeves of his shirt by just _breathing._

“Then why didn’t you laugh,” he asks, pushing himself off of whatever the hell he’s standing against and getting closer to him, ducking when Zayn refuses to stop and he almost catches Liam in the face with his foot. The less than manly squeal that comes out of his mouth makes it all the more worth it. “If the joke was so funny, then why didn’t you laugh?” He rubs the back of his head, even though Zayn didn’t touch him. “Also, you’re mean. You could have kicked me right across the playground, mate.”

Zayn really has to teach him to pick up on sarcasm. Hanging around El, Lou and Zayn should have sharpened his senses to detect the amount of sass the three of them happen to toss into regular conversation.

“I was laughing on the inside,” Zayn says, his voice going in and out as he goes back and forth, still kicking his feet out and bringing them back in; a rhythm that has him rocketing higher and higher each time. “And you’re lucky I didn’t kick you. _You could have flown into space and we wouldn’t be able to get you down._ ”

On his way back up, Zayn sees a look of realization pass across Liam’s features. He almost feels like a proud father. Actually, he takes that back. That’s weird and creepy and incestuous considering how much he wants to bone Liam on a customary basis.

“I see what you did there,” he says. Liam tries to stand in front of Zayn, thinking it will stop him. But he should have known if it didn’t work when they were kids, it wouldn’t work now, and Zayn carries on swinging, knowing this was a game of chicken, and Liam would duck out first in fear of being hit. “Hey— _shit Zayn,_ will you—stop for a minute, would you?”

Zayn debates on whether or not he should stop, but Liam looks at him angrily, so he says fuck it and digs his heels into the ground.

“What?” He asks, because he was having a swell enough time before he was interrupted, and he’d like to get back to what he was doing as soon as possible. Plus the crease in Liam’s eyebrow never turns out to mean anything good for Zayn, so he’d like to get this over with. “Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t fucking do anything to deserve the mean eyebrows. Stop it.”

Liam scoffs at him, and that nearly warrants a gracious middle finger, but Zayn’s too tired to deal with the aftermath of Liam’s feelings about such a derogatory gesture. “I don’t have mean eyebrows. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“You have various versions of your eyebrow expressions.” Zayn uses his fingers to count, ticking off each one with a single finger. “Happy, sad, disapproving. _Oh—_ we can’t forget the angry ones. Mean and angry are two completely different ones, though. Mean ones are a _mix_ between angry and disappointed. Angry is just—”

Liam stops Zayn by decreasing the amount of space that’s between them, and he stands right between Zayn’s legs, effectively shutting him up. Really, it’s not fucking fair that he can stop Zayn’s motor functions by just taking a few steps closer to him and holding Zayn’s chin between his finger and thumb. Zayn’s eyes fall to slits and the action makes Liam very aware that this— _whatever this is—_ is not appreciated.

“Come and eat before your food gets cold.”

Zayn really hates that the seat for this swing sits up so high, allowing Liam to slide easily in the middle of Zayn’s thighs, and it leaves them almost at the same height if Liam crouches down the slightest bit. Which of course he’s doing. Usually this wouldn’t bother Zayn as much, he’s supposed to be used to Liam not knowing the dynamics of personal space, but it’s been a long fucking day, okay?

“I’m—I, uh. I’m not hungry.”

A heavy sigh passes from Liam’s lips, and today must be Zayn’s lucky day, because for the second time, someone comes to his rescue. Only this time Zayn doesn’t have to purchase numerous gift certificates to Starbuck’s to return the favor, probably just some dog biscuits. And although nothing would delight Zayn more than watching Louis scarf down a few dog treats, Boris is the one he has to thank.

Zayn’s old dog comes crashing through Liam’s legs, and he’s distracted long enough for Zayn to slip out of the swing and corral Boris to the ground for a casual roll around in the sand. Zayn’s petting the dog’s fur and letting him slobber all over his face. Liam chuckles at them and stands back to watch Boris and Zayn with a partiality that kicks Zayn in the fucking chest.

“How about you take him for a walk over near the creek,” Liam says, his mean eyebrows now replaced with happier ones, and Zayn thinks Liam must see something in Zayn that he’s not conscious of showing, just feeling. Or maybe Liam can read the lines of worry and anxiousness in Zayn’s face as well as Zayn can reciprocate. “You need some time with him. Safaa’s been running him ragged all day. He started whining a minute ago. I think he misses you.”

Zayn laughs when Boris rolls over on his back and sticks his legs up in the air, like he knows they’re talking about him, and he wants some kind of reward for being the topic of conversation.

Zayn rubs his belly and holds him close, chuckling into the thin fur of Boris’ neck. “Yeah, I miss him too.”

Liam holds a hand out for Zayn to grab onto and Zayn accepts on the premise of being too lazy to get up in the first place. He’s pulled up and Boris wags his tail excitedly at the picture of Zayn on his feet. Liam’s chest is flush against Zayn’s, and he takes no time to bring his hand to Zayn’s face, cupping his cheeks and probably feeling the heat in them, seeing as Zayn is being overtly fucking preposterous where Liam is concerned today.

“Walk him there and back, and then come eat,” Liam says lowly, speaking with a gentle tone as if he didn’t just tell Zayn what to do, like he was a child. “Louis told me you haven’t eaten anything besides breakfast all day,” he scolds. “I got you a burger and some fries. Come over and eat when you get back, yeah? If not, you know Louis will steal ‘em in a heartbeat.”

“He’s such a fat-ass.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Liam says, grinning right there in Zayn’s face, unaware that it sends his thoughts spiraling in his brain like the pathetic love-sick son of a bitch he is. “You know he’s sensitive about his bum.”

Zayn knows that isn’t true, and he says just as much. “No, Louis _pretends_ to be sensitive about his bum to draw attention to it. Like it doesn’t get enough attention already,” he whispers to himself. Zayn waves his hand in the direction he can ironically hear Louis screaming about falling on his precious ass. “Go on and tell him I said he has a fat ass. The bloke’ll probably think it’s a compliment.”

Liam’s fingers graze the stubble over Zayn’s face, scraping over the indents of his cheeks and setting him on fire like no one else ever will. Because no one can ever get to Zayn the way Liam can. And if Liam wasn’t the most oblivious fucker on the planet, Zayn would strongly suggest that there’s no possible way that he doesn’t know he makes Zayn’s skin tingle with every touch, and his breath quicken with every look from those stupidly beautiful eyes.

Boris’s paws dig onto Zayn’s thigh when he jumps up on the back of Zayn’s legs, and Liam pushes him away with a pat to the bum and a warning not to take his sweet time heading back. Zayn’s flattered that he’s looking out for him, but it’s not necessary. He’s older than Liam; he should be the one bossing people around. When he tells Liam this, Liam just says that Zayn can shove his flattery up his bum, and that if Zayn isn’t back in fifteen minutes that he’ll drag him back by the roots of his hair. And that’s just overdramatic at the least, because Liam loves Zayn’s hair almost as much as Zayn does.

He can’t blame him, its nice hair.

Zayn might stay at the creek for a little longer than fifteen minutes. He might even be able to say that time is doubled, or tripled. He can’t be sure, but it’s dark now, and he doesn’t know when he left the park, but his phone says that he’s got two hours before his sisters need to be home and in bed. The girls were supposed to spend time with Mum and Dad, but Zayn thinks they enjoyed themselves today. They’ll get over it.

Zayn doesn’t mean to get caught up in the smooth sounds of slowly running water and crickets that he can hear, but not see. Boris tramples around in the water and then the dirt, matting mud on his coat that Zayn washes off three times before he fucking gives up and sits down in the grass. Zayn’s shirt is dirty, and his hands smell like river water and dog hair, but he’s even more content than he was when he was throwing himself in the air on that damn swing, therefore he can’t say it’s that bad.

When he gets home, Zayn knows that he’ll drown in music, just so he won’t have to drown in Liam. K-Ci and JoJo will keep him afloat until Zayn can bask in the warmth and sunlight and nostalgic familiarity that California will bring. It’s almost a no-brainer that Usher will sing him to sleep while Zayn scrapes off the phantom touches Liam leaves on his skin. And if Drake can make you miss someone you’ve never even met, Zayn has faith that he’ll be able to coerce all the tears Zayn has built up for this particular situation out of his system, setting up the proper channels for Zayn to never cry over Liam again.

Or not for a while, at the very least.

Zayn jumps when a body appears beside him on the ground. For Liam’s sake—because Zayn has super fucking awesome protection skills—it’s not dark enough for Zayn not to see Liam’s face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Liam laughs at him and slaps his hands away when Zayn raises his arms to smack the hell out of Liam—or smack some sense _into_ him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I told you I would come up here to get you. It took me a little longer to find you.” Liam’s face is only barely illuminated enough for Zayn to see him look around and take in the beauty of the scene before them. Zayn doesn’t _know_ that’s what he’s doing, but Liam’s always been really fucking cheesy, so he doesn’t guess he’s that far off. “I haven’t been out here in ages.”

Zayn almost comes out of his skin when Liam’s hops up suddenly and yanks Zayn along with him. There’s a protective railing some douche-bag from the park committee put up around the deeper part of the creek bed so dumb-ass kinds wouldn’t fall in, and Liam walks them backwards until Liam’s perched up on it and Zayn’s standing in front on him.

Zayn inches closer so he’ll be able to grab Liam if the wind starts to blow too hard. Or something. He’s not being overprotective, he just doesn’t want Liam to fall over and die. Zayn sort of likes looking at his face. Liam must take this as an invitation to move Zayn against his will into the space between his legs, making them face to face, with Liam’s hands wiggling under the thin cotton of Zayn’s shirt.

His fingers are cold to the touch, but his chest is warm and Zayn more than welcomes the heat. Liam’s looking at Zayn funny again, similar to how he was staring him down when he made Zayn get off of the swings. Zayn doesn’t like it. It’s strange and it makes him feel like Liam knows something Zayn doesn’t. And it’s fucking creepy. Zayn looks back just as hard, and tries not to fall even more in love with Liam when he pulls Zayn closer still, even if Liam’s wiggling almost sends him toppling backwards.

The back and forth is set to wear him down over time, he knows it is.

That doesn’t stop him from patting Liam’s face none too gently, laughing smugly in his face when Boris sneaks up behind Zayn and steals Liam’s stupid flip-flop right off his foot. Once Zayn’s done playing with the annoyingly scratchy five o’clock shadow— _Zayn’s isn’t that itchy, is it???_ —he rests his arms over Liam’s shoulders as Liam’s hands sit comfortably on Zayn’s hips.

“Remember that time you got sick,” he asks. His voice is quiet, matching the ambiance of the night around them. “Nicola let us loose and you swam all day. And I—”

“—sat with my sister on the bank so your books wouldn’t get wet,” Liam finishes, shaking the short bristles of his hair out when Zayn tickles at the back of his neck, ‘cause he enjoys being a little shit and making Liam just as uncomfortable as he feels. “Yeah, I remember. I snuck out to the woods with you afterwards. I was soaking wet, and fell asleep while you were reading under your make-shift fort. I was stuck in the house for a week. Mum was so mad.”

Zayn recalls the anger in Liam’s mum’s voice when she scolded Nicola for not keeping a better eye on them. “It was your hair,” Zayn murmurs, running his hands through the strands and imagining what it was like before Liam cut it in eighth year. “It was so long and you had _so_ goddamn much of it, it took hours for it to dry naturally. I miss it, though. It made you look younger.”

Liam hums and sways them back and forth, scaring Zayn half to death. “Harry used to pull it _all_ the time.”

Zayn pokes him in the nose, because Liam hates it, but Zayn is quite fond of his nose. It’s one of his quirkiest features, something Liam has always wanted to change so badly, but Zayn thought it made Liam…Liam. “I protected you ten out of ten times, dick.”

“You came late sometimes,” Liam says, pulling him close enough to link his hands behind Zayn’s back. He noses the neckline of Zayn’s shirt and rests his forehead against Zayn’s collarbone. “You were always late, even if he was teasing me just next to you. It took you forever to notice,” he whispers. “Always missing what’s in front of you, Zee.”

That’s a realization that Zayn is already familiar with. He is always late; _too_ late.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, sighing into Liam’s hair, apologizing more to himself than Liam, because he was the one hurting here. “I’m really sorry.”

The melancholy in his tone must alarm Liam. He snaps his head up and quirks his head in question at Zayn. And that’s just like Liam, to know Zayn more than he can ever hope to know himself. It’s not like that makes them any stranger than they already fucking are.

“What’s wrong, Zayn?”

Playing a card he’s certain won’t get him very far in the long run, Zayn says, “Nothing,” and steps back from Liam’s intense gaze, because it’s starting to really get to him, and he needs some space. “You said I was too late to stop Harry from messing with you and shit, and I was apologizing, that’s—”

“Don’t give me that,” Liam says, eyes hard, because if there is anything Liam hates, it’s a liar. That should make Zayn fess up to everything right on the spot, but he’s not that smart or that brave. “There’s something more to all of this. You’ve been off all day. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t shut me out,” he demands. He reaches out for Zayn’s hands and looks hurt when Zayn hurries and moves his arm.

That look almost forces Zayn over to hold Liam’s face between his hands and say he’s sorry, over and over again. Liam has that kind of power over him, and as much as it drives him crazy to admit it, it’s true.

“I’m not shutting you out.” His defense is weakened by the break in his words, but his face is schooled to perfection, a small grin in place, ready to fool Liam into leaving him as is. “You must be imagining things, babe. I’ve been busy. Running after the girls and El all day is a tough job. Don’t really have time for heart to hearts, mate.”

“You’re lying to me, Zayn. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

He stomps his foot, annoyed at Liam’s persistence. “Nothing is wrong, Liam. Leave it alone.”

“Is this because of Danni?”

 _Yes, it is,_ he thinks. _It’s because of Danni. It’s because of you and your dopey smile and precious fucking laugh and the stretch of your shirts over your unnecessarily large muscles and the perfect proportioning of your body. This is all your fault, but it’s also my fault because I’m dumb and I can’t control my hormones and I let El and Louis take me to too many goddamned rom-coms and I’m now a disgusting mess of fucking feelings and emotions._ But that’s a mouthful, and Zayn doesn’t have enough energy to say all of that. Or the desire.

“Nope.”

Liam stares at him for a long time and Zayn returns his watchful eye with a glare, careful not to break until Liam’s eyes soften and he stands up to decrease the space between them with two long strides. _As if Zayn needs any more reminders that Liam has sprung up like a fucking bean stalk._ He squeezes Zayn’s shoulders and fits his slightly smaller body into Liam’s wider one. Zayn fights him, only to try solidify any ounce of dignity he has, instead of crashing into Liam’s arms; which are the solution, but also the initial fucking problem.

Liam isn’t having any of it. “Zayn, come _here._ ”

He goes willingly this time. He presses his nose to the line of pulse in Liam’s neck and just _breathes._ Liam is his source of oxygen, after all. He’s the reason Zayn can inhale freely and the reason he has trouble finding breath. A walking contradiction, that Payne boy.

He’s jolted from his thoughts when he feels the soft press of Liam’s lips on his neck, reassuring in their intent but counterproductive against Zayn’s nerves. His movement annoys Liam; he can tell from the huff of breath against his skin. Zayn moves away again but Liam’s hands hold firm in opposite favor of his aim.

“Fucking quit, Li.”

“What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“ _Nothing,_ I—”

Liam furrows his brows at Zayn’s answer, which happens to be out of alignment with his fucking sketchy behavior, but he can’t help it. _He can’t._

“Then just let me hold you, babe.”

The way Liam holds him like he never wants to let go doesn’t help Zayn’s self restraint, or what’s left of it. And even if he feels fucking pathetic as he does it, he settles into Liam, falls into the familiar comfort of body against body. Their arms tangle in a mess of limbs that has neither one of them knowing where one begins and the other ends. Zayn matches Liam’s breathing, slow and steady and so sure of himself that it has Zayn thinking of when they were kids and _Zayn_ was the one calming _Liam_ down and fisting his shirt in his hands, never planning on letting go.

“You’re so clingy,” Zayn says to break the silence. “I swear, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were in love with me.”

But he does know better and the rumble of a chuckle in Liam’s chest does nothing to alleviate the sting of the cold, hard, annoyingly painful truth.

“I do love you, you angsty son of a bi—”

He slaps at Liam’s stomach before he can finish his sentence. “ _Liam Payne,_ that better not have been a curse word about to come out of your mouth. Do you want to start putting money in the curse jar? It sounds like no big deal, but it’ll drain you. You’ll be _broke._ ”

He shrugs and offhandly leans down to kiss Zayn’s forehead. “What can I say? You’ve corrupted me.”

“I can definitely return the sentiment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Of love, maybe hatred? I'm a sucker for comments and kudos, so leave me some if you want. But just reading is fine, too. 
> 
> Tell me what'cha think! :D


	5. it's only what you're waiting for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems two weeks is going to be the standard for chapters until I can get my life in order? But each chapter is like, almost 20K, so I hope that helps, and I kind of love this chapter, so I hope you feel the same? So much Liam and Zayn interaction, I'm dying. 
> 
> I figured us Ziam shippers needed a little pick-me-up? 
> 
> Sidenote: The way the chapter ends, it makes it sound like the story is over, but there's so many more issues to adress, so that's not the case at all, just wanted to let you guys know that. :P
> 
> Also, I love comments and I thrive off them, so leave me one or two or a million. Or none, just reading is fine. But comments are awesomw and okay, I'm shutting up now.

Zayn wishes he could say that things got better after that; after Liam held him and they stared at the creek, watching Boris run around haphazardly until Zayn’s stomach growled and Liam forcefully pulled him towards the park. Where he sat him down and handfed him like a child. And Zayn bit his fingers, indulging himself and smiling wickedly when Danielle looked over at the two of them with a blank face and crossed arms.

The joke was on Zayn though, because that was the last of the good times he’d have with Liam for a while, and he had Danielle to spite for that. She probably thought she was so cute, monopolizing all of Liam’s time and making it impossible for Zayn to get a moment of alone time with him without a mention of her, or worse, sight of her. _Yeah, that’s a good movie, Danielle and I went to see it last Thursday_. And _Do you want to come out to the rec center? Yeah, okay, well let me swing by and pick up Danni and I’ll be over. You don’t want to come? Why not? Okay, then, I’ll see you tonight when I come over and visit the girls._

Then Zayn was conveniently never at home, at least not when Liam showed up to tuck Safaa in at night and help Waliyha finish up whatever was left of her school work before she went off to bed. Alicia Keys’ brand new album had been Waliyha’s bargaining price in exchange for a text message as soon as Liam’s truck pulled out of the drive-way and Zayn was in the clear to come home. The act was petty and selfish and Zayn was being a dick, but it was necessary in his mind. His newly anti-masochistic mind.

“If you’re going to start living here, babe, you have to start paying rent.”

El’s mum is awesome, not nearly as awesome as Liam’s mum, or Zayn’s own mother, but she’s pretty cool. She lets Zayn stay late into the night and she doesn’t tease him for staying on the phone for long hours with Safaa, making sure she’s okay being babysat by the older Tomlinson sisters after school. (Zayn does not send them there for any reason concerning Liam, he doesn’t. He’s just pulling extra shifts at Ed’s for money purposes, and he doesn’t want them to be bored all day until Zayn’s parents get home.) Plus, Mrs. Calder can try her hand at anything where cooking is concerned and have Zayn’s mouth watering.

“I’ll have to take it out of my stripping money,” Zayn says, moving around the kitchen for some leftover mashed potatoes she made the night prior. Zayn swivels his hips at her, kissing her cheek to tease. It’s not his fault she used to think Zayn was a little slut, stealing her daughter’s innocence. Now she knows better. “Do you take small bills, love?”

“Stop using your charm on my mum, you twat.” Eleanor scoots around Zayn and pulls a pudding cup from the refrigerator and kisses her mum’s opposite cheek, squeezing Zayn’s bum and jumping on the counter top. “She’s too old to be getting all flustered, go bat your eyelashes at someone else.”

“I’m not that old,” she protests, shaking her finger at Eleanor and making Zayn laugh. “You better watch it, young lady. He can flirt with me all he wants.” She winks at Zayn, and he laughs harder. “It’s nice to be appreciated every once and a while.”

El snorts. “Dad appreciates you more than enough. Every Saturday night after the footy matches go off of the telly.”

Eleanor’s mother blushes, but she doesn’t deny it as she walks out, and Zayn thinks this is why he loves coming here, because El’s family is just as cavalier and unashamed as she is and it makes Zayn feel like he’s safe and loved and more than appreciated. Not that he doesn’t feel appreciated at his house, but it’s different. Eleanor doesn’t have a million siblings running around that Zayn has to count himself responsible for, and her parents aren’t intrusive or overbearing. It’s a nice place to hide out— _hang out._ It’s a nice place to hang out.

Niall comes through the door a short time later, and his shirt is soaked through from what Zayn suspects was sweat from exertion, but he has bite marks scattered across his neck, so he must have had a good time wherever he was. He crashes into El’s lap as soon as he makes it to the kitchen. Zayn raises his nose, because Niall is rank, but he heats up his food and sits down at the kitchen table without a word.

“Are you lot going to the swim meet tonight,” Niall breathes into El’s neck, rubbing his sweaty hair all over her collarbone and chuckling to himself when El proceeds to grimace, but doesn’t make him move. “Harry’s meeting me there, and the Tommo’s are bringing Zayn’s sisters.”

Zayn’s interest is piqued, because he knows it’s going to take forever to get his sisters calmed down after the excitement of Liam’s meet, but oh well, he’ll be the one tucking them in at night and patiently waiting for them to settle down and go to sleep. Zayn might actually go, it’ll be amusing.

“Is she going to be there?”

Zayn only asks because he doesn’t feel like stabbing his eardrums with any available blunt object, which is what Danielle’s voice entices him to do. Really, he’s just avoiding temptation.

Niall looks suspiciously guilty and Zayn has his answer. Also, he does have to go into work in about an hour, so he’s not avoiding Liam, he’s just busy again. He is, however, avoiding Danielle. Not hating someone is a hell of a lot harder when you don’t have to be in a fifty foot radius of them.

“You’ll hardly even see her, I bet.” Niall is unconvincing in his effort. Zayn’s still not going, and it’s sad that Niall’s going to keep trying; even if there’s no chance Zayn is going to sit in the stands and watch Liam flex his ass in a pair of teeny-tiny underwear and actively try not to bash his brains in at the sight of Danielle and her peppy walk and unrealistic curls. “If all of ‘em place in more than three events, they’ll go on to finals next month. It’ll be real exciting.”

“As much fun as that sounds, Ni,”—he’s lying, it doesn’t sound fun at all—“I’ve got to work anyhow. Ed needs me to close tonight and I can’t let him down. Tell Liam I said good luck, though. I bet he’ll do fantastic with all of you there to cheer him on. ‘Specially you two, being cheerleaders and all.”

“Three, there’s three cheerleaders. Me, El and Danie—”

“Can we not go there?”

Zayn does hate himself just a tad for not sucking it up and supporting Liam at tonight’s meet, seeing as it’s a big one and getting to the finals could mean a lot scholarship-wise, not only for Liam but Louis as well. But Zayn had spoken to Louis a fortnight ago, and even if he’d scolded Zayn for being an annoyingly gross lovesick fool, in the end he claimed to understand. The fucker still made Zayn buy him three pairs of skinny trousers, but Zayn couldn’t say that wasn’t a fair trade-off.

“Alright then, mate. ‘M gonna run upstairs and take a shower, I’ll see you in the morning, I hope?” Niall pushes off the counter, slapping El playfully on the thigh and earning a sharp yank to the hair. “I feel like I haven’t seen you outside El’s house in days. I ain’t been up to The Pit yet, either, ‘cause when me and Li go up there, you’re always too busy in the backroom for cuddles.”

Zayn frowns and calls Niall a mushy fucking sap, nevertheless he accepts a hug that leaves his skin damp from Niall’s transferred perspiration and his face sticky from candy kisses he leaves across Zayn’s cheeks.

He traipses up the stairs and Zayn and Eleanor are left in the kitchen to eat by themselves. El pulled her phone from somewhere out of her clothing, and she was sending text messages animatedly while Zayn sat and watched.

“If you’re texting that fuckhead, I’m slapping you right in the face.”

It’s been a few weeks since Louis and Harry’s party, and since then Zayn and El have both been too caught up with other things to have time to sit and have conversations about Liam and Mitch. El might have been avoiding the walking douche-stick she called— _what the fuck did she call Mitch???—._ She might have been dodging Mitch’s calls, ut no matter what Louis said, Zayn was not fucking avoiding Liam. He’s been busy.

Zayn doesn’t care how many times he has to repeat that to any and everyone; that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

“Just because you’ve been avoiding—”

“I’m not avoiding him.”

“—Liam, doesn’t mean I have to give Mitch the cold shoulder.” El jumps down from the counter and sits across from Zayn, dipping her finger in his potatoes and stuffing her mouth. She’s a fucking animal. “He’s been better lately. He brought me flowers to cheer practice the other day and he gave me a ride home from school when you ditched me to go to Ed’s.”

Zayn shakes his head at her, mostly out of disappointment. El didn’t take shit from anyone, but Mitch always seemed to be the exception.

“What about the other girls he was practically screwing right in front of your face? Did you forget about that, or did he give you chocolates and roses to forget about that, too? Maybe a big teddy bear that says: _I’m sorry I’m a fuck up_?” He kicks her leg under the table when she looks away from him and her cheeks flush in a way that lets Zayn know he’s right about Mitch being an asshole. “You’re better than that, El. You’re too fucking pretty and too goddamned smart to be running around with losers like Mitch Donovan.”

Instead of sighing heavily and agreeing with Zayn, she gets a look in her eye that he doesn’t like and lifts her brow at him self-righteously. It’s not a look that Zayn is comfortable with receiving, and he’s certain he won’t like anything that comes out of her mouth when she speaks next. Zayn knows all about holier-than-thou arrogance and Eleanor’s wearing it like a cloak right this second.

“Do you really have room to talk to me about what is and isn’t good for me when you’re literally running across the fucking globe to get away from Liam?” She taps her nails on the table with a smug air about her when Zayn’s mouth falls open in stun. “You didn’t think I knew, huh? I can’t believe you’re dumb enough to think Louis would ever keep a secret that big to himself. You’re _too goddamn smart_ for that,” she mocks. “Honestly.”

All Zayn can do is sit there abashed. That’s the most dramatic and scarily accurate word he can come up with to describe the daze of his features, his crestfallen frown and the line forming between the thread of his brows. He swallows another bite of potatoes for nutritional purposes, and because he doesn’t have a Kit-Kat right now, but he needs a freaking moment.

When he does talk, he stutters and it causes a fluttering in his chest and abdomen that he’s not proud of. Zayn wasn’t looking forward to telling Eleanor, but he had planned on doing it. Zayn wants to be mad at Louis for spilling the beans but El is his friend as well, so he guesses Louis had a right to inform her that two of her closest friends would be moving out of the country in the near future. Well, in several months.

“One, I don’t know whether to kill Louis for telling you, or kiss him because I didn’t have to.”

“You should probably kill him, or slug him at least. There were crocodile tears and handkerchiefs, _I_ wanted to slug him.”

Zayn shrugs because he can believe that; can almost imagine Louis calling up El in the middle of the night and driving to her house, breaking the news to her in a less than mild manner, trying to spare feelings that weren’t really hurt. Eleanor would be happy for the both of them, if anything. That’s something Zayn never doubted. But he shakes his head because he had a point to make here, and he didn’t want to get too far off track.

“Two, that’s—that’s _different._ Liam and I are friends first. He’s never treated me like shit. He respects me too much to do the things Mitch does to you, even if we were, _you know—”_ Zayn waves his hand around, searching for the right word, hoping she’ll get the gist of what he’s trying to say.

“Dating,” she supplies, folding her hands and resting her chin on them, looking bored with his explanation.

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Zayn pushes his food around his plate, disturbed by the way El keeps fucking _looking_ at him. “Three, I’m not running from anything. I do want to go to school with Louis, and getting out of this town has a big part to do with it, but it’s not Liam’s fault I’m leaving. It’s mine.”

Zayn looks back up at Eleanor when she stills his hand, where he hadn’t realized the thoughts he was hiding inside his head where shaking him from the inside out, literally. Fuck, he was pathetic.

“Are you sure Liam has nothing to do with this?”

“It’s not his fault I’m in love with him. I’m the stupid one who had to go and fuck everything up, not him.” It comes out as a whisper, and the sadness he sees in Eleanor’s eyes, the pity, forces him out of his chair and to the kitchen sink. “Don’t look at me like that, okay? Don’t feel sorry for me because I have a huge boner for my straight best friend.”

“He’s bi.”

Zayn ignores that, because Liam’s interest in guys lasted a month, tops. On and off of course, but nothing serious.

“At least he doesn’t treat me like I’m a piece of crap,” he spits, scrubbing a bit too furiously at the dish in his hands. “He loves my family, he spends a shit-load of time with me— _even when I don’t ask him to_ —and it’s super fucking hard for him to ignore me because he’s usually up my ass twenty-four hours of the day.” Zayn drops the clean plate in the sink, rinsing it off with a quick splash of water and turning around to face El with unreasonably hard eyes. “If Liam doesn’t even like me the way I want him to, and he still manages to treat me better than Mitch treats you, you can do better. You _deserve_ better. Don’t be a dumb-ass.”

Eleanor stands up from the table with her hands on her hips, and for a moment Zayn thinks he’s about to get punched in the face. He would deserve it after the seemingly endless tangent he just went on, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with a black eye or a guilty conscience. Not today, not _ever._ If worse comes to worst, Zayn might just apologize and take off to work early. It’s not like Bonnie or Ed will mind.

“So what you’re saying is Liam treats you like his boyfriend, but somehow,” she uses both of her hands to illustrate the insanity of the of the words that just came out of Zayn’s mouth; she’s such a drama queen. “ _Somehow_ he doesn’t want to screw your brains out? Is that what I’m hearing?” El looks at him for rhetorical confirmation. “To me it looks like _you’re_ the dumb one here, babe. Get your shit together before you start pointing fingers.”

Zayn reiterates the mantra he’s been relaying to himself every day since he described Liam’s eyes as _chocolaty heaven._ It still makes him cringe to this day, but in his defense he was like, fourteen and a huge dork. “All of that doesn’t mean anything. That’s just how we’ve always been. It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing, El. You know Liam. And you know that all the touchy-feely shit is just what he does. Don’t make it something it’s not.”

She nods her head, and Zayn can feel the sarcasm roll off her, can feel it coat the air, can feel it wrap him in a blanket of irritation that’s going to stir up the pent up anger settling in his belly from the events of this week and the last. Zayn knows that she’s going to say something that will dig under his skin, and he knows that if he isn’t careful he’s going to defuse all of the annoyance in his body by erupting on Eleanor.

“Yeah, I know Liam. Definitely. Nice guy, that Payne kid.” She gets closer, crossing the kitchen and standing in front of him, the chumminess in their discussion gone and replaced with impatience aimed at one another. “But I also know you, and I know you’re a real pain in the ass. No way is Liam putting up with half of the shit you do if he doesn’t love you. If he’s not _in_ love with you.”

“That’s not true,” he says sharply. He doesn’t want to hear these things. Zayn is done wishing on false hope and building castles in the sky. As much as it makes him sound like a pansy, his heart isn’t strong enough for that. “He has a girlfriend now, anyways. There’s nothing I can do.”

“No,” she says, voice rising. On occasion Zayn forgets how intimidating El has to be to deal with five boys all the time, and the sharp angles of her face when she’s angry can be extremely scary. “Liam and Danielle are friends, but she has every intention of staking her claim on him. They’re not dating, not yet. If you let her have him again, Zayn, that’s all on you.”

Her finger pokes hard at his chest, and if she were anyone else, Zayn would have lost it them, would have set her straight and told her to fuck off. “If you let Liam slip out of your hands—‘cause Lord knows you have that boy wrapped around your finger—then _that’s_ your fault. You can’t run away to California and sulk all your problems away if you haven’t even tried with Liam. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to him.” Eleanor walks away, getting fed up with the conversation with very little actual conversing on his part. “acting like a fucking child and grow up.”

With that she runs upstairs and Zayn hears her door slam shut not too long afterwards. His mind is racing, and there are thoughts in his head that he’s not completely sure how to process. It’s making his fingers twitch to reach for the iPod in his jeans. The pounding in his head only succeeds to get louder and more forceful until Zayn digs out his form of medication from his pocket and lets melodies of no particular artist put his anxiety to rest.

Zayn’s alone to think in the kitchen and if he strains he can hear Niall and Eleanor upstairs and her parents mulling around in the backyard. Zayn doesn’t feel like there’s a place for him in this house at the moment, and even if there was, he’s not really up to keeping up a façade for anyone right then. He sends Eleanor a quick text, telling her to fuck off and that she made his head hurt, but that he loves her.

Then he did what he apparently does best now.

He runs. Out the door and onto the porch, to his car and he doesn’t press his brakes until he’s in front of Ed’s and then he runs inside. He runs to the back room and searches for a work shirt, having left his at home. And he runs to clock in. Zayn runs to The Pit and he puts his head between his knees, ignoring whatever Bonnie is yelling at him.

But it still doesn’t seem like enough, and more than ever Zayn can’t wait to run out of this town for good.

**/////**

“Another acceptance letter, wrong fucking college.” Zayn throws the envelope down on the bed, not caring where the papers once inside end up. “I’m never gonna get in, Lou. I’m gonna be a bum for the rest of my life because I screwed around when I was younger. My grades are shit, I’m shit. My life sucks.”

Louis pushes Zayn over on the bed, adjusting his legs and crawling into the free space. It’s Sunday again, which means Harry is at work and Louis is bugging Zayn at his house until his boyfriend clocks out. He checked Zayn’s mail on the way up, discreetly sneaking the large envelope past Zayn’s parents and creeping into Zayn’s room. Zayn didn’t bother to check which University emblem was on the front, just ripped it open and saw that he had been granted to go to school somewhere up near London and threw the papers to the side.

“Your grades aren’t shit and you’re life doesn’t suck.” Louis cuddles up to him, resting his hands on Zayn’s chest and hooking his chin over his knuckles. “You’re friends with me, it’s near impossible for your life to be anything but perfect. Cheer up, buttercup.”

Louis pats Zayn’s cheek affectionately and rolls over, grabbing his phone from the floor and letting his thumbs fly across the touch-screen. Zayn looks over to see it’s Harry, and he isn’t surprised that Harry’s spent most of his shift sending sickeningly sweet messages instead of stocking shelves or sweeping the backroom like Zayn told him to last night. If Zayn knew Harry could do two things at one time he wouldn’t be annoyed. But he can’t, so Zayn confiscates Louis phone and tosses it across the room to the bean bag Safaa brought in from her room.

He thought it was kind of adorable how she wanted to listen to music with Zayn sometimes, or watch him while he painted. It reminded him of how Waliyha used to do the same thing and it makes his heart hurt just a bit at the thought of leaving it behind. But if he’s going to have to move out eventually, he might as well have a good reason.

Although, he’s never going to go anywhere if USC doesn’t send him a damn letter.

“Go bring me my phone, you jackass.” Louis slaps at Zayn’s stomach and proceeds to pout when he doesn’t move. “Harry was asking me if you were going bowling with us when he gets off work. He figured you’d just be a dick about it like you have been for like, two weeks, but I told him I might be able to convince you. _Or I was going to,_ before you chunked my phone across the room, pig.”

“Bowling sounds like a terrible idea,” Zayn says, socking Louis hard in the shoulder when he slaps Zayn a little too close to his nuts. “Bowling with Harry and Niall sounds like an even worse idea. And I haven’t been a dick. Fuck you. I’ve just been—”

“Say busy and I’ll punch you right in the kisser, Malik.”

Louis sits up and gathers the papers from the duvet, getting up and walking to Zayn’s desk. He fishes the key out from between the floor and the bottom drawer and unlocks the drawer Zayn keeps his University papers in. When he finishes stacking them nice and neatly he sits on the desk chair and spins around a bit, waiting for a smart retort from Zayn that he’s not going to get.

“What? Nothing to say, ‘cause you know I’m right?” Louis hums in something akin to amusement. “There seems to be a lot of that going around lately.”

Zayn doesn’t need the smug attitude that Louis usually carries around, so he rolls over in his sheets and brings the covers over his head. “You’re a dick. I’m going to sleep, you’re more than welcome to join me or get the fuck out.”

“A nap does sound good,” Louis agrees, moving Zayn in his own bed, like the duvet and pillows belong to him and not Zayn. Zayn doesn’t even flinch when Louis’ cold calves wrap around his own and his small, freezing hands ghost under Zayn’s shirt for warmth. It’s a familiar comfort that Zayn will never admit makes the pressure in his chest lighten. Louis will never let him hear the end of it. “Hey, Zed?”

Zayn only hums in response.

“Do you—do you think I’ll be able to get a scholarship to USC?” His voice is unsure and Zayn isn’t very fond of the tentative side of Louis personality; the less confident version of himself that he tends to hide behind boisterous laughs and smarmy comments. “For diving, I mean. I want to do theatre, I already got accepted into the program for all the community plays I did, even if they were crap.”

“They weren’t crap, don’t fucking say that.”

Because any play lucky enough to have Louis Tomlinson among the cast was not crap, and Zayn didn’t like him putting himself down for something he was brilliant at, even if he was blinded by his joy for it, too much so that he could only sense his passion and not his talent.

“They were,” Louis restates offhandedly, tracing patterns up Zayn’s torso. “But do you think I could still get a scholarship?” Zayn’s best mate’s voice is small, and it worries him more than it should. But it’s Louis, and Louis is kind of hard not to love, and that in turn causes Zayn to fret when something’s bugging him. “I can’t afford it on my own, Zayn. And I can’t ask mum to pay for it. She’s got four girls to take care of and she’s already busting her hump to pay for the bills and all the extra shit we ask for.”

Zayn knows the feeling; the guilt and pride that came along with not asking for tuition money from your parents. That’s why Zayn has a job, and Ed. Zayn has Ed and he’s never let Zayn down, so he has enough money to pay to go to University, but Louis doesn’t have that luxury. He’s saddled himself with a sport that he no longer has interest in so he could get a free ride, and at the last minute, he chose to follow his dreams, leaving all his hard work to vanish in the dust.

Zayn has to make this better, after all Louis does for him, after he encouraged Zayn to get out and travel and pursue whatever his dreams may be, Zayn owes him just a little something.

“Are you daft, mate? You never stuck me as dense, but maybe I was wrong.”

It’s not hard for Louis to reach up and twist Zayn’s nipple, hard. Little fucker. Louis huffs and pinches Zayn even harder, just below his bellybutton this time. “I’m trying to be insightful and have a moment with you and you call me an idiot? With me this close to all your sensitive bits? Are _you_ daft, mate?”

Zayn sits up, pushing Louis’ hands away and walking across his room to his closet. He had to move his shoeboxes out from under his bed, because Ed had given him many, many more stacks of cash in the few weeks that Zayn’s been pulling overtime to cover for him, along with his regular paychecks. And instead of one boxful of money, Zayn had six. Six fucking boxes and Louis was stupid enough to think that Zayn was going to be selfish enough to keep it all to himself.

“You see all this?” Zayn points to the floor where Converse boxes are stacked and aligned with the boxes that used to house Zayn’s Doc Marten’s. “There’s so much money here, I can’t even concentrate long enough to count it. When have you ever known me to not be able to count cash? _When?_ ”

“Never, you money hungry bastard.”

Louis is sitting up with Zayn’s comforter around his waist. There’s more color in his cheeks and the starting of a smile is on his lips. That’s more fucking like it, Zayn thinks.

“Yet you really think we won’t have enough money to sit on while we figure out what the fuck either one of us is going to do?” Zayn closes the door, securing it and making sure it’s closed all the way before he sits down right in front of Louis and picks up his hands, holding them for some mushy, self-depreciating reason. “I owe Ed my life for all of that. I still don’t know where the hell he got all of that, and there’s a really good chance I’m going to end up in jail for harboring stolen property, but if you’re willing to go down with me, you can have as much as you need.”

All Louis can do is smile back at Zayn, but his face turns a little more serious, resulting in a groan from Zayn because he thought they were done with all that sad business.

“You would do that for me?”

That’s a dumb question. Like, a seriously mad question. Zayn would do anything for any of his friends. He would sacrifice as many Saturday naps as necessary to make sure Niall didn’t look like a fool during cheerleading practice, and he would drink the Irish lad’s horrible attempt at tea with a smile on his face, just out of courtesy. Zayn was willing to work every one of Harry’s shifts for the foreseeable future if need be, and he would bury his guilt with a bottle of vodka after lying straight through his teeth when Harry’s mum asked him if Harry threw a party while she was out of town. That was saying a lot, hence Anne being as persuasive as she was.

Zayn can’t count the number of times he’s had to carry Eleanor through an entire party after watching her try to drown her liver in alcohol with shot after shot of whatever she was handed. And despite his best efforts to never, ever become a therapeutic personality to anyone, out of respect for his dignity and will to live without suffering through the trials and tribulations of someone else’s problems, Zayn has let El cry on his shoulder too many times to keep track. It’s pretty obvious Zayn would go to the ends of the earth for Liam, or something else equally sappy and sorry.

There’s no doubt in his mind that he would do the same for Louis.

Zayn shrugs, lying down with his head in Louis’ lap. “I mean, if I tolerate your annoying self on Sunday mornings, it’s only fitting that I let you risk a trip to prison with me. Right?” Zayn nods to himself. “Yeah, sounds about right to me. Cell mates for life, I reckon.”

“I never thought it was possible to love and hate someone at the same time until I met you.”

“I’ll bring you a world full of new experiences, baby. All you’ve got to do is ask.”

“Zayn, shut _up._ ”

**/////**

Zayn doesn’t have to get up early for school anymore since he has no interest in twiddling his thumbs while all of his friends are in practice for whatever extracurricular activities they’re involved in. Ed has been assigning Bonnie to open the store at ass-o’clock in the morning, as a result of her being on his case about where he disappears to at night, and she can’t very well hound him if she’s busy dealing with hipster customers and retired veterans looking for records that remind them of better times. So no school and no work mean extra sleep for Zayn. Going to school a little later than usual had it’s perks, ones that had a lot to do with his REM cycle.

Not to mention the added bonus of not having to stand around while Danielle flirts shamelessly in the middle of the school parking lot.

What all of this means is that when his phone goes off five minutes before his alarm is set to ring, Zayn is very disgruntled. Because those five minutes make all the difference when Zayn is trying to muster up energy for avoiding Liam at school and at work and at home and at the fucking supermarket because Liam and Zayn were weirdly attuned to one another and they both went to pick up bags of crisps at the same damn time. Dodging Liam’s presence is only something he’s recently come to terms with, only for the sole purpose of Louis being equally as annoying as his boyfriend, both of them ganging up on Zayn to tell him he’s being a tit by ditching them all, just because he’s voluntarily not on speaking terms with Liam.

Whatever, they’ll get over it. Zayn’s surprised either of them can register what goes on in the world around them with their heads stuck so far up each other’s asses.

“Who the fuck is calling me and what the fuck do you want?”

Sure, Zayn could be a bit more cordial in his greeting, but he was sleeping and sleep is something Zayn takes very seriously.

“I woke up late for cheerleading and now no one will give me a ride to school.” Eleanor sounds whiny and a tad grumpy on the phone, and Zayn rolls back into the comfort of his sheets, smothering his face into the pillow. Picking El up means he has to rush to get ready and Zayn really doesn’t want to get up for a shower right now. Zayn doesn’t want to get up, ever. “Come get me please? I’ll give you gas money and everything if you come soon. Louis texted me and told me Samantha Stevens was wearing a bird-printed jumper. _A jumper with birds on it,_ Zayn. I have to see this and laugh appropriately before class.”

Zayn squashes the need to tell her that both she and Louis are clinically insane and that he does not care one bit about some poor girl in a jumper that’s probably very adorable—actually, no, it sounds horrible. But Louis and El are still insane and Zayn is still tired, but that doesn’t stop him from telling her that he’ll be there in a minute. Because he’s a good friend, or something. Also, he could use the gas money.

“You’re a lifesaver,” El says when Zayn pulls up to her house and she gets into his car. “The good kind. Orange-flavored, even. I’ve got to get a car of my own,” she mumbles, taking the words right out of Zayn’s mouth. “But why do that when I have a best friend like you, right? You’re the greatest, Zeddie Bear.”

“If you call me that again,” he deadpans, “I’ll never buy you Starbuck’s _ever_ again. Not in the lifetime we’re in now or the next one coexist in. And I’ll make you walk to school until I graduate.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes at him and buckles her seatbelt, even though the ride to school is close enough for her not only to walk, but close enough that if it were Zayn, he wouldn’t even bother with any road safety procedures. It’s literally a few blocks, and with Zayn’s lead foot and less than happy attitude to be on the road when he’s this irritable, they make it there in a few seconds short of a minute.  

“Someone’s ripe today,” she says, getting out of the car and waiting for Zayn by his hood. “All work and no play making Zayn a bitch?”

“Yes,” he says, slinging his pack over his shoulder and walking beside her step for step to the gymnasium. “Working my ass off is making me a bitch. What’s your excuse?”

Zayn snickers to himself, because he’s a funny guy, and he sees the punch coming soon enough to dodge it. Eleanor takes this is stride and weigh lays him with her duffle bag. “You’re an asshole, but that was a good one. If it were directed at someone else, I would have given you a high-five.”

“Good to know,” Zayn says, standing up straight and rubbing at the sore place on his back. It was totally worth it.

Eleanor pushes open the gymnasium doors and Zayn follows her. There are disastrous posters lining the walls, posters the cheer squad is responsible for. Zayn thinks it’s a wonder all of their teams don’t lose by horrible margins, because Zayn can’t see how the pathetic scrawling on the large pieces of paper inspire any sort of school spirit or encouragement. El sees Zayn eyeing her teammate’s handiwork and gives him the bird.

It’s still funny to him.

As soon as Zayn and El are through the doors to the basketball courts, ones that are seldom used and instead often occupied by all the sports junkies after practice until the bell rings and signals them to get their asses to class, Louis is dragging El to a corner and waving in passing at Zayn. Zayn rolls his eyes and watches his ridiculous mates slyly point and giggle at poor Samantha, who catches them and lifts a speculating eye at Louis’ unfashionable red Toms and Eleanor’s messy bun and equally uncouth sweatpants and oversized sweater. They turn red and Zayn lets out a laugh that has the entire gym turning to look at him.

Zayn raises his hand in the air, middle finger extending and they go back to their regularly scheduled, uninteresting lives and conversations.

“Karma is an unfair bitch and you two deserve every ounce of embarrassment that comes with being ridiculed by a girl in a bird patterned jumper,” Zayn says, laughing as Harry appears and Louis immediately cuddles up to him to drown his sorrows in armfuls of happiness and unruly curls. “Seriously, there are crows and blue-jays on her bum. Re-evaluate your life.”

Louis glares at him and Zayn laughs even more.

-

Zayn makes it out of the gym in time to miss Danielle and Liam walking in from the locker rooms with Niall.

He chalks this up to his skills in the slickness department and also to Eleanor’s forewarning of Danielle’s curls moving toward them through the sea of people. Either way, he was gone as soon as he got word of Liam coming their way, and even if he was lucky enough to not have to deal with the combined irritation of Liam putting his hands all over Zayn and Danielle staring holes into Zayn like she wanted him to evaporate into thin air, he still felt like shit doing all this running around. There was a good fifty percent chance Liam was confused as all hell, and it wasn’t his burden to bear, but it was still a problem Zayn had to learn how to deal with.

So until he can get all the feelings and thoughts sorted out and it’s easier to breathe properly when Liam looks at him or touches him or kisses the back of his neck like it means _nothing,_ it’s for the best. Later Zayn can deal with being an asshole, as well as the rest of the aftermath this self-searching bullshit brought along. For now, Liam is just going to have to continue going around town with his new—his new Danielle. So far, it hasn’t really proved to be a problem.

But today Zayn isn’t that lucky, and Liam isn’t that willing to let his best mate slip out from under his radar for too much longer, so it’s only a matter of time before Zayn is caught in the hallway and Liam is standing there smiling at him dopily and Zayn starts losing all motor functions. He’s been doing a really got job at steering clear of Liam, so much so that he forgot how much Liam takes up space for the both of them. And how he can level Zayn with one look and secure his feet in place with a touch of his hand. Liam can let his hands roam anywhere on Zayn, and when he’s gone there will still be a phantom sensation of fingertips that haunts Zayn in his sleep and shakes him to his core.

Plus, Zayn is fighting his urge to pull away from Liam on an empty stomach, and it’s really fucking hard to concentrate when Liam’s breached the distance Zayn had worked so hard to create.

“Hey, you want to grab a bite to eat with us?” Liam is exuding a level of confidence that has Zayn breathing a little funny. Zayn didn’t have a chance to hook his backpack over his shoulder after sorting all his books into it just before lunch, so it’s still in his hands, but not for very long before Liam takes it and sets it to the ground, nudging Zayn back into the row of lockers behind them. “It’s been a while since you’ve been out with me and the gang, so how about it? Hmm? Just the lot of us for a while, give us some time to catch up with you.”

Zayn starts to say no. He’d like to think he has enough self restraint not to cave at Liam’s requests the first time he’s properly spoken to him in nine or ten days. Sure, Liam’s been at The Pit, and he’s sent Zayn questioning and hurt looks from where the older lad was securely planted behind the register. Zayn was lucky that Liam hated conflict, avoiding it at all costs. It was the main reason he was able to escape Liam’s hands and mouth and big brown eyes asking him what was wrong. But now Liam was in his space, and Zayn does start to say no, he does. But the proximity of Liam’s innocent and perturbed gaze, mixed with his the grazing of his hands up and down Zayn’s back in a hesitant manner, like Liam’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch him… Well, that breaks him down a lot.

“Yeah,” he says, internally groaning at the mega-watt smile that unfolds on Liam’s face. Because it’s not necessary, or it wouldn’t be necessary if Zayn wasn’t such a dick and during his stint of staying away from Liam, he hadn’t stopped to consider he was making his best friend feel like shit.

“Really, you will?” A knife twists low in Zayn’s gut at the hopefulness in Liam’s voice.

“Yeah, I’ll go. Just don’t ever refer to Niall, El and those other two as the gang. That’s so fucking lame,” he jokes, trying to regain his composure when Liam dips his head into Zayn’s neck to stifle a laugh. Liam breathes in deeply and he holds Zayn’s waist with anxious hands, like he’s trying to make sure everything is real. Like he’s missed Zayn _—he better fucking have—_ and he doesn’t want to let go. Zayn knows it’ll make him a goddamn sap if he tears up, so he doesn’t. “And stop sniffin’ me, I know I smell good, but that’s creepy, mate. Get off’a me and let me put my shit up and I’ll meet you at the truck.”

Zayn shoves Liam away good-naturedly, masking his intent to get Liam’s skin out of contact with his own because he’s still not had time to filter out thoughts of kissing Liam on the mouth when he touches him, and now that Liam’s got a…Danielle, it’d be a good idea on Zayn’s part to keep Liam out of arm’s distance until further notice. But the kicked puppy look Liam had earlier? Yeah, Zayn couldn’t be responsible for that anymore. Spacing himself from Liam but still communicating with Liam, that could be done, right?

Zayn would just have to make it work.

“Cool,” Liam says, not bothered by the Zayn’s swatting hands as he picks up his pack and sets it in Niall’s locker. Zayn can’t wait to get back to his own locker. Now that Liam’s found Zayn’s alternate hiding spot for escaping when Liam wants to find him and stand against the blue metal like some sort of rom-com douche bag and wait for Zayn to come along, Zayn figures he might as well go back to his own locker. There are only so many food items you can clean off your books before you start feeling like it’s not really worth it.

“It’ll be nice not to attempt driving with Harry and Louis making it in the backseat for once. You’ve got to stop being a recluse, Zee, I’m gonna crash or lose my bloody eyesight.” Liam laughs to himself and catches Zayn’s hand as they make it down the hallway to the parking lot, unaware of Zayn’s eyeing the point at which their fingers interlace together. “I never knew how horny Harry was on a full stomach.”

“Are they not coming or something,” Zayn asks, feigning an itch on his shoulder in order to get his hand out of Liam’s, stuffing it on his pocket afterwards so Liam doesn’t catch him off guard again. “It’s a crazy thing really. I once saw Hazza eat three plates of nachos and he almost humped Lou’s leg right off his body on the ride home. God, those two are something else. Young love, I guess, innit?”

“Something along those lines,” is Liam’s reply. He’s bubbly, and seeing him happy makes Zayn happier than he was this morning, well, this week. “They’ll have to take Louis’ car if you’re coming along. We won’t have room for ‘em, unless you want to squeeze in next to Niall and El. I doubt there’ll be much space once you fit Louis’ bum into the cab.”

“The truck can hold six, Li.”

Liam rubs Zayn’s head, making him duck because he didn’t have time to do his fucking hair this morning and he doesn’t want it to look worse than it already does. Liam holds the door open for Zayn, earning him a punch to the ribs. Zayn’s not a fucking chick. He can open a door just fine, has two hands for it and everything. It’s weird how in sync they are on their way to the parking lot; Liam’s hand at Zayn’s back—Zayn haven given up on trying to slip out of whatever random touches Liam always found a way to enforce—and Zayn tucked closer to Liam’s body than he was before, purely by accident. Because no way was Zayn willingly stepping into Liam’s space where his cologne and smile were that much more harmful to Zayn’s resolve.

“There’s seven of us, you donut.”

Zayn was getting into the truck, trying to count on his fingers and buckling his seatbelt before he realizes that seven of them included Danielle. She’s climbing into the backseat and grumbling about having to sit next to El, whose bitching just as much as Niall climbs in.

Liam’s already pulling out of his parking spot and following Louis and Harry before Zayn has a chance to jump out of the truck and make up an excuse as to why there are a million other places he would rather be than out to lunch with Liam and Danielle at the same time. In the same restaurant. On the same planet.

El leans forward in her middle seat and whispers low in Zayn’s ear. “Bet’cha didn’t know she was coming, did ya?” She smacks what she thinks is a consoling kiss to his ear, but it only makes him more irritable when he has to wipe chapstick off the side of his face. “I’m sorry, cupcake.”

Zayn contemplates doing a tuck and roll out of the passenger seat, but he considers the damage his face might sustain if he falls out the wrong way, not to mention the broken bones he’ll get from the fall, seeing as Liam’s truck is suitable only for giants. He decides against it.

Zayn is entirely too pretty to walk around with road rash. Also, Louis will never stop laughing at him, and then Zayn will never stop punching him. So really, he’s doing it for Louis sake. At least that’s what he tells himself as he sits in the corner seat at the restaurant and twirls his spaghetti around on his plate while he watches Liam watch him and Danielle watch Liam.

He rides back to school with Louis and Harry, not even minding when Louis almost crashes and kills them twice because Harry can’t keep his stupidly large hands to himself. 

**/////**

“Toby McGuire is obviously the superior Spiderman. I wouldn’t expect you to know that because you’re a _girl._ ”

Zayn wipes behind the counter, raising his nose at the amount of dust Bonnie had let collect under the counter while Zayn had been working overtime to stock shelves and reorganize things, adhering to the flux in mood he’s had lately and moving some soul searching music to the front of the store to be appreciated. Eleanor told him it was natural to be more accustomed to gloomy music, but he needed to snap the fuck out of it because she was tired of listening to country crooners whining about lost love or lost dogs, which was really the same thing.

Those were her words, not his.

Now Zayn was at work, thankful to be there and deprived of any more questions like, _“How are you doing?”_ or, _“Can you believe Danielle was all over Liam like that? They aren’t even dating.”_ Lunch was boring and uneventful. Despite Zayn wanting to throw up his food at the sight of Danielle touching Liam, rubbing his forearm or gently linking their fingers when Liam was making conversation, or fucking brushing food from his lips like she had _any right to_ —Zayn was getting carried away. As much as it annoyed him to sit there and see Liam bore holes in to him as Zayn spoke a few words for cordial purposes and Danielle clearly marked her territory, the persistent concern from his friends was more off-putting. Zayn had to tell Louis several times that he was fine, because he was, before threatening to make Harry work the entire weekend for the rest of the month if he didn’t bug off.

But because Louis is a bastard and he loves to make Zayn’s life miserable at best, El and Niall were sent to accompany him during his shift. Zayn knew it wasn’t a choice made by either one of them. Niall’s couldn’t shut up about wanting to get home after school, the reason being his mum infamous chicken parmesan. There wasn’t a pasta dish that boy would pass up if it was being made my Mama Horan. And Eleanor ran a strict schedule; Zayn knew tonight was the night GeordieShore was supposed to air new episodes. Leaving Louis responsible for the two fools arguing over the quality of superhero movies on his boss’s couch.

“The feminist in me says you can go screw yourself,” Eleanor responds to Niall’s earlier comment. “And the Spiderman fanatic in me says you can go _fuck_ yourself.”

Zayn snorts at Eleanor’s loose use of fanatic, attracting attention, and El’s looking at him and demanding he explain what the hell he’s snorting about over there. He decides that if they’re going to blatantly try to get his attention, he’ll throw them a bone and join in. It’ll give them something positive to report back to Louis.

“The only reason you even watched Spiderman is because you have a girl-boner for Andrew Garfield.” Zayn tosses his dirty rag into a pile of cut up dish cloths in the corner on the room. “You’ve never even seen Toby McGuire play Spiderman. And you’re like, the least feministic person I’ve ever met. You called me a girl for listening to Christina Perri and you show off your boobs to cut in line at the club.” Eleanor flips him off and Zayn returns the gesture. “Pretty sure emotion shaming and self-exposure for favors are pretty big no-no’s at the Femme Club.”

“You show your knockers at the clubs?” Only Niall would miss every part of the conversation, sans the part where suggestive body parts are mentioned.

“It was _one time,_ ” Eleanor defends, getting out her phone. “ _Maybe_ twice, but I remember both times being freezing cold and I was not about to wait an hour to dance. That’s insane.”

“So you showed your—”

“Yes, Niall!”

Zayn rolls his eyes and walks himself over to The Pit, squeezing between them and throwing an arm over their shoulders. “You two are a handful, you know that? ‘S like having two extra kids to take care of on top of Safaa and Liyah. But El’s right, Ni. Toby McGuire really sucks as Spiderman. Spiderman 3 is the sole purpose he’s not in the Avengers. That and Spiderman is owned by Sony and not—”

“We don’t care,” Eleanor says, rubbing her face into Zayn’s arm and patting his stomach, cutting Zayn off from his impending speech, because if anyone could talk about superheroes, it was Zayn. And Liam, but that was beside the point. “We just wanted to get you out of the funk you’ve been in.” She reaches over to pinch his cheek, knowing Zayn’s too lazy for the amount of work it would take to release his arms from her and Niall’s weight to retaliate. “Missed that smile, big boy. But speaking of kids —which I am not, you little shit— Liam’s taking the girls to get something to eat. Louis sent me a text message. Said he’s taking ‘em home and hanging out until your mum and dad get off since you’ve been _working a lot lately._ ”

The way she looks at Zayn with condescending eyebrows and the glimpse of a smirk makes him want to conjure up the energy that would be involved in slugging her on knee.

“Sorry I can’t be a bum for the rest of my life,” he sneers, sighing when she digs her elbow into his gut and then snuggles into his side. She’s a fucking nutcase. “I needed to go home and get my Chem book for the homework I have in my bag. I’m guessing neither of you have one I can borrow?”

He always forgets that they’re in different grade levels, and often times regrets not making any friends besides Louis that were his own age.

“You can still go home, you big baby. He’s not gonna be there until later, ‘cause they’ve got to eat,” Eleanor mumbles. Niall nods in agreement and Zayn guesses they’re right. “Just have Waliyha text you and tell you when the coast is clear to go to your house and we’ll cover for you until you get back. It’ll take like, two seconds.”

The idea doesn’t seem bad no matter how Zayn tries to find loopholes in it. It’s not like he’s not already sending Waliyha text messages and requesting to know when Liam is gone for the night. One more occasion won’t hurt. His phone is being dug out of his pocket before he has a chance to confirm the action, and El’s bony fucking fingers are going to leave marks if she presses any harder. She sends the text then hands Zayn his phone, and Niall is snatching it immediately, claiming something about wanting to play Angry Birds.

“I told Liyah to text you when Liam picked them up, while they’re eating or whatever.” Eleanor hops up, fluffing Zayn’s hair and openly accepting a punch to the arm because her moving means Zayn’s hands are free and she doesn’t even move away when Zayn lifts his fist. “I’m gonna go try to find some music around this dump that doesn’t make me want to sit in a rocking chair and knit a sweater.”

Eleanor’s misconception of music is pitiful in all honesty. “Just because they’re records, doesn’t mean all the music is old. We have CD’s, you goofball.”

A customer comes in then and Zayn has to get up and actually start working for his paycheck. It’s a real pain in the bum, but he cleans out Bonnie and Harry’s mess, surprised that they don’t get along better considering the both of them have a similar aversion to any sort of cleanliness in the workplace. Eleanor dusts off a cassette player that’s hiding on one of the lower shelves. She knows better than to mess with the classic rock Harry has in the CD player connected to the overhead, so she inserts some pop crap from a boy band Zayn’s never heard of and makes her way behind the counter to sit at the ragged desk resting in the corner.

She’s doing something disgusting like clipping her toenails or blowing bubbles with her spit every time Zayn looks over to check on her. Her actions get weirder and grosser in all the time it takes Zayn to check out three customers who come through the doors at random. Tommy walks in and stalks down the aisles aimlessly a good fifteen minutes later and Zayn points him in the direction of some Dr. Dre he put back especially for him. It’s not hard to say his mood has gotten better in the last hour and he’s about to check his phone for a text so he can get his homework out of the way and officially call it a good day.

Or as good as it’s going to get after nearly catching a toenail to the eye when he ventured too close to Eleanor a few minutes ago.

But Niall yells at him, something unintelligible with his thick accent and bouncing anxiousness and Zayn doesn’t register the fact that he’s telling Zayn he got a text message from Waliyha about Liam seeing her text when he was taking a photo of her and Safaa in front of the Ronald McDonald statue—and when Zayn remembers this later, he’s so going to give Waliyha _so much shit_ for taking a picture with Ronald McDonald—and that he’s on the warpath, driving to Ed’s set to ask Zayn just what the fuck was going on.

No, Zayn isn’t aware of that, because he’s ignoring Niall in order to usher a kind customer out of the door. The words sit in the back of his brain for a few seconds and they only materialize into actual thoughts when a truck door slams and Liam is barging through the glass doors and Zayn nearly trips over himself trying to get to the backroom and pretend he’s busy but Liam is _fast_ and Zayn used to smoke like a fucking chimney so it’s not really fair how easily Liam catches him by the waist.

And it’s not fair how Zayn’s body weight apparently doesn’t mean a damn thing to Liam, whose tossing Zayn against the wall near the doorway to the storage rooms—Zayn was _that close_ to freedom, that close. It’s also not fair how Zayn’s eventually going to spring an embarrassingly obvious boner with how Liam brackets him in, his hands crashing into the wall above Zayn’s head and the hard line of his body pressing Zayn back into an old Elvis poster. Because that’s hot. It’s hot how in control Liam is, the way his chest is rapidly moving up and down, not with exhaustion but with anger. God, that’s fucking hot.

Then Zayn remembers that Liam is supposed to be pissed, he _is_ pissed, because Waliyha is too dumb to delete her text messages and Liam is terrible with technology and it had to be a complete accident that he stumbled upon those texts anyway, but it happened and Liam was mad and Zayn had no clue how to answer any of the questions or demands that must be running through Liam’s head right now.

“I don’t know what I did,” he says, looking unamused when Zayn tries to worm his way out of where he’s stuck between a body of fucking muscle and a wall that has broken way too many times to be stable. “But you’re going to stop avoiding me. It stops _today._ ”

He makes a feeble attempt at defending himself. “I’m not avoiding you.”

Liam crowds him even farther back and Zayn closes his eyes for a moment’s escape. When his eyelids flutter back open all he sees is Liam, which isn’t unusual, but he’s not in the mood for dramatics right now, so. Their foreheads are touching; Zayn can sense it rather than feel it. Because his brain is too focused on the lightning vibrations sizzling through his body while it’s lined up with Liam’s to pay attention to anything else.

Liam’s breath is warm on Zayn’s face when he calls him on his bullshit, clouding his senses and making his hands strain at his sides not to push him away or pull him closer. “That’s crap and you know it, but I don’t care. I don’t care at all, Zayn. I just want my best friend back. You texted your sister to tell you when I was away from your house. Is whatever I did really that bad, that you can’t even stand the sight of me? The thought of me being around? I thought—” his voice cracks and Zayn hands immediately work their way up to Liam’s back, rubbing circles and pressing his fingers into Liam’s spine.

“Liam, I’m not avoiding you,” he repeats, simply out of nothing else to say. No other words will come out of his mouth right now. All he can do is deny, deny, deny. “I just didn’t want you to have to pay for me as well, alright? I knew if I was there you would want me to go with you and I’m tight on money. With lunch today and—”

Liam hits the wall, hard. So hard Zayn’s scared it’s going to break under the pressure and Liam’s even closer to him then, face redder than it was before. “Stop lying to me. Just—just _stop._ ” Zayn does stop. He seals his mouth shut and looks up at Liam, trying to convey his apologies with the only way he knows how, a stroke to the back and a sparkle in his eyes that tells Liam something overly emotional and lovey-dovey. “I thought we were good today, yeah? Me and you? I thought you were done ignoring me and then I saw—I saw that text, Zee…”

Zayn is quick to capture Liam’s face before he turns away. Because Zayn didn’t realize how much he needs Liam until he didn’t have him and then he’s struck with an overdose of the boy he’s holding in his hands. An over stimulation of his smell and his smile and the way he laughs. And the veins that move under taut skin every fucking place Zayn looks on his body.

“I’m sorry.” It’s simple but that’s Zayn. He’s simple and Liam knows that, knows him better than anyone and Zayn hopes he can understand. “I’m sorry, Li.”

Liam shakes his head and Zayn begins to panic. “I don’t care, though. I don’t care about whatever it is you’re mad about, because we can work it out. It’s us; me and you. I know you have a shift to finish, but you’re coming over to my house when you get off.” Liam’s hands leave the wall and they gather at Zayn’s waist, their arms getting tangled up until Liam takes Zayn’s hands and twines his arms around his neck and returns his hands to Zayn’s hips. “And we’re talking, _really_ talking. I’m gonna figure out what’s going on in that brain of yours, Malik.”

“I have Chemistry homework,” he says as an excuse. What’s he going to tell Liam? _I’ve been a dick to you because I’m hopelessly in love with you?_ That sounded entirely too much like a line in every bad romance movie Zayn’s seen with Harry. Or one that’s in the making. “Plus, have you looked outside, mate? ‘S about to start raining any minute and you know my windshield wipers are shit.”

Liam levels Zayn with a look that he must have gotten from Louis, because Zayn’s never, ever seen a face that makes him want to shake with fear and jump Liam’s bones at the same time. Not that he ever, _ever_ wants to jump Louis’ bones, but he has been known to give very motivating glares.

Any feeling Zayn had in his legs vanishes when Liam’s head drops and he’s leaning his head in to speak low in Zayn’s ear, so close that Zayn can feel lips along his earlobe. “If you’re not at my house after ten, I’ll come get you myself. I don’t care if its pouring rain and I have to drag you to my bedroom soaking wet, you’re going to be there.”

The thought of Liam pulling Zayn through the rain, both of their bodies slick with clothes sticking to their bodies makes it hard for Zayn not to twitch with need and something else he can’t quite put his finger on. Liam wet leads to Liam _wet and shirtless_ , and that’s something his imagination just can’t handle.

“You can’t order me around,” he breathes, air catching in his throat when the width of Liam’s hands spread to his back and trail up and down, copying the motions Zayn was making earlier. “You’re not my mum.”

“No, I’m not your mum, ‘cause your mum wouldn’t let you pull this nonsense for so long.”

Zayn mutters curses under his breath, silently damning Liam for being able to break Zayn’s defenses down with a few grazes and some quick words. What’s worse is how Liam knows he’s gotten through to Zayn, and he drops a kiss just under his ear and another one on his forehead before backing away.

“If you’re not at my house—”

“I’ll be there, you bossy little shit.”

Liam is lending Zayn a hand to pull him out from the rut he’s been backed into and then he’s turning to leave, waving cheerily at Eleanor and Niall like he didn’t just give Zayn a verbal spanking. Zayn wouldn’t mind an actual spanking so much—okay, no. Zayn hears Liam’s truck start and he’s still standing in front of the doorway and contemplating all the terrible life choices he’s ever made to land him this fuckstorm of an occasion.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Zayn thinks he’s almost thankful El is such a pervert, enough so that her comment snaps Zayn out of whatever trance Liam left him in. “Shut up and hand me those CDs,” he says, motioning to the Madonna discs she’s scrolling through. Zayn doesn’t know what he’s going to do with said discs, but he needs something to do with his hands. Zayn really just needs to move around right now. “And thanks for the heads up two seconds before, Niall.”

“Have you ever been in the middle of Angry Birds and stopped for a text?” Niall is serious, and from where he’s standing, Zayn thinks he might be playing another game right now. Zayn’s uninstalling that goddamn game the first chance he gets. “It was a matter of life and death, brother.”

Zayn wants to say something smart, but he’s at a loss, and the sheer happiness on Niall’s face when he beats another level and the phone makes noises at him is something he doesn’t want to disturb, so he leaves it alone and starts stocking shelves, contemplating whether Madonna should go beside Whitney or Britney. It really shouldn’t be as hard as it is.

Eleanor’s found Zayn’s candy stash again and she’s obscenely twirling a sucker in her mouth and leaning up against the counter and talking across the store. “Seriously, why aren’t you hitting that again? You need to be hitting that. Did you see his fucking arms? _Good lord, it’s a fire._ ”

Zayn doesn’t even know what that means, but yeah, he did see Liam’s arms. And it was as torturous as it was pleasurable.

“I’m not screwing Liam because I have morals against having sex with my friends,” he says, looking pointedly at El and nudging his head in Niall’s direction. They both give him the bird, but he continues. “And Liam’s into girls right now and I’m a million miles in the friend zone.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a knack for exaggeration?”

“And an overuse of hair products. You really go crazy on the hair products.”

Zayn sighs, his shoulders lifting with frustration. “Shut up, everyone just shut the fuck up.”

It’s funny and annoyingly pitiful how he feels like he’s said that before.

**/////**

Liam’s mum, Karen, answers the door when Zayn knocks. It’s late at night, and just like Zayn had presumed, the dark clouds in the sky and humidity sticking to his skin earlier had been a foreshadowing for rain. He wasn’t lying to Liam when he said his windshield wipers don’t work very well, and he’d had a hell of a time getting over here. But he was here and Karen was welcoming him in, grabbing one of Liam’s sweaters off the coat rack and patting out the wetness in his clothing and hair.

“You’re going to get sick in this weather, young man.” Zayn wouldn’t be nearly as wet if he didn’t stand outside the front door for several minutes debating on knocking, but he doesn’t tell her that, because he doesn’t feel like getting scolded anymore. “Take off your shoes and trousers, would ya? You’re gonna drip all over my carpet, sweet-cheeks.”

Karen pinches Zayn’s said _sweet cheeks_ and waits expectantly for him to drop his pants, having no reservations about seeing him in his boxers, seeing as she’d picked Liam and Zayn up from the lake in the nude two summers ago, when they skinny-dipped with Louis and Harry. It was a fun time, Zayn remembers. He would recall it way more fondly if Louis hadn’t taken off with Liam’s clothes and Harry hadn’t thrown Zayn’s shit in his backpack and ran after his irritating boyfriend.

Fingers snap in front of Zayn’s face and he’s reminded that he’s standing in the middle of the Payne’s foyer, soaking wet. His cheeks flush and Karen laughs openly at him, taking his jeans, socks and even managing to convince him to give her the shirt off of his back. Zayn follows her to the laundry room and helps her put his things into the dryer. He plants a big and sloppy kiss on her cheek, thanking her for her hospitality and giggling when she tells him not to be ridiculous, that his is as much his home as it is Liam’s.

Karen tosses him some of Liam’s clean clothes sitting on the dryer. It’s one of those stupid cut-offs Liam wears all the time, and together Karen and Zayn joke that he might as well be naked, because Liam is longer than Zayn and broader as well, his cut-open t-shirt not leaving anything to the imagination when it’s draped over Zayn’s frame.

Zayn slips a pair of sweats on and pads out of the laundry room, his feet slapping the cold tiles, making sound in an otherwise quiet house. Liam’s mum hasn’t called for her son and she had yet to send Zayn on upstairs, and it’s not like Zayn is particularly looking forward to whatever talk he and Liam are supposed to be having. This leads him to take a seat at the kitchen table with Karen and accept a cuppa, wrapping his hands around the mug and trying to ignore the sly look Karen is sending him over the rim of her own cup.

“Well spit it out then, will ya?” Zayn thinks that uncomfortable staring must be something that runs in the Payne family, although with Karen it’s less fidget-inducing and more of a question-raiser. Zayn can feel the words in the air that she’s not saying, and he’s just waiting for her to speak before he gets completely freaked out. “’S there something on your mind, Karen?”

“I just haven’t seen you in a while, young’n.” She stirs her tea, sprinkling a little more sugar in her cup and moving the paperwork she’d been previously occupied with to the side. Only then does it dawn on him how late it is, due to Karen’s knack for doing extra work when she couldn’t sleep at night. If he concentrated long enough, he could hear the faint whispers of Liam’s dad snoring upstairs, and the slight thrumming of a television in Liam’s own room. “Liam’s been running around here out of his wits for a few days. He came in with your sisters earlier, mad as all get out. I figured you’d be by soon after seeing him like that.”

“He’s a bit upset with me,” he explains.

“You better go fix it then, huh?” She sets her cup down on the table, smiling at Zayn and tapping her fingers in a beat that doesn’t make any sense in Zayn’s head. “You two are the most codependent couple of friends I’ve ever seen. You’re stubborn as bulls, not to mention. Walking around here mad at the world for no reason, I don’t see any logic in that, my boy.” Karen gives him a gentle kick under the table. “Now get on up there and put a smile back on my baby’s face. We don’t have the genes to pull of frowns, you know? And neither do you. I should always see a smile on that handsome face you’ve got.”

Zayn mirrors her happiness, coughing a bit uncomfortably and standing up. “I guess you’re right, _ma,_ ” he jokes. “He’s in his room, right? I can go up?”

“You should know better than to ask.” She crosses her legs under the table and waves him away. “Get going, Zayn. Stop trying to put it off, now. I’ll come rescue you if things get a little too loud,” she shakes her head, taking the final drink of her tea. “The both of you go at it like cats and dogs when you really get down to it. Just remember I’ve got neighbors. Old neighbors that go to bed early and don’t like being woken up by two rambunctious boys who don’t know how to express their feelings.”

Its scary how well she knows them, how well she knows Zayn. It’s like she’s reading his mind, or his aura. Something weird like that. He laughs until a thought passes through his head, one that has him stopping at the bottom of the stairs and turning to her with unsure eyes.

“He is alone, right?”

She nods knowingly, with a grin that Zayn doesn’t feel very comfortable trying to decipher. “No, that girl isn’t up there, hun.”

Zayn flounders, unsure of how to respond to that. Goddamn mothers and their conniving ways. “That’s—uh—that’s not what I was asking at all, Karen. I mean—I don’t really—I don’t have a problem with Danielle.”

That’s a blatant lie, and maybe he should stop doing that, it being what got him into trouble with Liam in the first place. But it’s Karen and she’s looking at him like she _knows._ Like she knows Zayn’s secret, how he’s head over ass for her son and Zayn doesn’t know that he’s supposed to do with that tidbit of information. She used to drop hints all the time, still does if he’s honest. It wasn’t a rare occurrence that she would wink at Zayn when he was trying to catch his breath by the pool, stunned by the power that Liam’s wet, shirtless chest had over him. Or she would whisper in his ear, tell the both of them to behave while she was gone with a suggestive tone in her voice. Zayn’s not sure if he’s comforted by the fact that she’s aware of the constant longing he has for her son, or perturbed.

“I though that might have something to do with not seeing you around here.” Karen completely breezes by the fact that Zayn just said—lied—that he doesn’t have any reservation where Danielle is concerned. She’s smirking now, and Zayn shifts on the balls of his feet. “It’d be a real shame if you let Danni come in between what you and Liam have, Zayn.”

He sighs with a heavy heart, but he grins from ear to ear anyway, not only to take some of the static out of the air, but because confirmation on the worth of Zayn and Liam’s friendship coming from her makes his heart want to beat faster under his skin. “You’ve got to stop thinking I’m in love with your son, Karen. You’re going to be sadly disappointed when we grow up and don’t give you any adopted grandchildren.”

“I will be no such thing,” she says, snorting. “You boys will get your act together if I have to make sure of it myself. I want grandbabies. _Foreign ones,_ like Angelina Jolie has. I’d make an excellent grandmother and I don’t see Ruth or Nicola settling down anytime soon. This is all riding on you, son.”

“You’re crazy,” Zayn chides, taking two steps at a time.

“Don’t let me down!”

He laughs and walks to Liam’s bedroom. He knows the layout of the house well; having spent enough time here as a kid. Liam used to complain that it wasn’t any fun playing hide and seek if Zayn knew all the cool spots in Liam’s own house. Truthfully, Liam had been terrible at the game to begin with. He giggled the entire duration of his hide in whatever cupboard Karen had cleared out specifically for one of them to hide in, and when they reached ten he stopped being small enough to fit anywhere that Zayn couldn’t see his gigantic head peeking out from.

He chuckles at the memory and almost shoulders his way in the door.

But he stops short, because things aren’t like they were back then. Zayn wasn’t Liam’s favorite person right now. They weren’t playing tag in the backyard and flying kites at the park. Liam and Zayn were strained. They were holding hands and scooting closer under covers, all the while Zayn was trying to suppress the urge to kiss Liam’s lips and see if they were as soft as they looked; see if they felt as good as he imagined. And Liam didn’t realize what he was doing to Zayn when he dropped his mouth to Zayn’s shoulder, making him shiver and want so fucking much more. No, it wasn’t hide and seek and chasing each other on the merry-go-round.

They were grown up, and Zayn was feeling things that Liam wanted him to be honest about.

So he knocks instead of pushing his way in, and the significance sends a sharp pain to his chest, but it is what it is. These are the cards Zayn dealt himself, and he would have to deal with whatever outcome life was going to throw at him. Standing there, he still didn’t know what words were going to fall out of his mouth, and if they were going to be any more honest than the one’s he’s been repeating the last few days.

When Zayn raps his knuckles against the door, it creaks backwards at the pressure and Zayn is greeted with the sight of Liam in his room. The lights are on and he’s sitting at the end of his bed with his homework sprawled out before him. Zayn doesn’t know what’s playing on the television, but the extra light is shining on Liam’s face, which brings his eyes into focus and then he and Liam are at a standoff, both looking at each other with no words being exchanged.

“Come in,” Liam says, sorting his papers out and shoving them in his bag. Zayn almost chides him for being so messy, but he refrains. “Don’t act shy. It’s not like you’ve never been here before. Since when do you knock?”

It would sound rude if Liam didn’t smile at him, a genuine smile that Zayn could place hope and faith and trust in, and it made everything seem alright just for a second. Zayn steps into Liam’s room, closing the door behind him.

“It’s called having manners, don’t be a twat.”

A hand pats the floor beside Liam and Zayn heads over there, choosing instead to sit at the foot of the actual bed. Only, Liam’s there to look at him with disapproval and he’s sliding down into the space beside Liam and then he’s scooting over to give himself breathing room. There’s something in the air that makes Zayn’s skin vibrate with anxiousness. Liam doesn’t look very amused at the obvious distance Zayn put between them and he’s stretching his arms out with that innocently treacherous grin that can make Zayn do just about anything.

“Screw you, stop looking at me like that,” he says, disgruntled when Liam’s smile gets wider and his fucking eyes shine brighter, like Zayn is making his day by just existing. Which is dumb. “I’m not hugging you, you were mean today. I’m not a slave; you can’t just _demand_ that I do things.”

Zayn doesn’t mention that there isn’t a single request Liam could list off that he wouldn’t eventually do, because the way he smirks and then bites his lip, the small gesture driving Zayn mad, Zayn would say he already fucking knows that.

“C’mon, I haven’t gotten a proper hug from you in days.” Neither one of them bring up that it’s actually been weeks, two weeks going on three if Zayn is being exact. “All I want is a really big hug from you.” He wiggles his eyebrows, not at all seductively. “You know you wanna.”

Zayn huffs in annoyance and crawls into Liam’s lap, not at all gently. It’s all knees and elbows and no poise, but a hug from Liam doesn’t sound bad at all, so he’s settling himself on his lap and letting Liam wrap his arms around him and squeeze. Liam basically crushes Zayn’s lungs until he’s slinging his arms around Liam in return, the position of him straddled on Liam’s lap more than awkward until Zayn gives in and says _fuck it,_ resting his weight on his haunches and collapsing into Liam.

“See, now doesn’t that feel better?”

“I pray for your sanity,” Zayn says, voice muffled from where his face is pressed into Liam’s throat. “It’s lost. You’ve completely gone mental in the time I’ve been away and you need all the prayer you can get.”

Zayn doesn’t realize his offhand acknowledgment to his time spent avoiding Liam, but Liam does and his hands wind even tighter around Zayn’s back. “You want to tell me why you weren’t speaking to me? Or seeing me? Or accepting my calls? Rejecting my texts?” He’s talking in whispers now and Zayn shuts his eyes, screws them closed so he isn’t tempted to look up at Liam and spill everything. All the secrets and lies and reasons why it’s been hard to be around him lately. “I miss you, Zayn. I don’t like missing you. I don’t want to have to miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” and he is. It’s not a lie, Zayn is sorry that Liam has to miss him when he’s not around, miss the jokes and the banter and the companionship. “I don’t want to take up your time, I guess. You have other things _—other people—_ that you need to be worried about. There’s not a space for me. I feel like there’s not a space where I fit into your life right now.”

Because the space Zayn wants to inhabit, as Liam’s, just _his,_ it’s being taken. Zayn wants to hold his hand and have it fucking mean something. He wants to spend all day in bed and know that he’s wanted there as more than a friend, more than a best friend. Danielle is taking the place that he wants to hold in Liam’s heart. He feels like a fucking prick, being so whiny and needy, but it’s an itching in his skin that he can’t scrape out. And that leaves Zayn red and raw.

“Why would you ever think like that?” Liam untangles his fingers from behind Zayn’s back and works his hands under Zayn’s jaw, his thumbs pushing up his chin so he can look Liam in the eyes. “You’re the biggest, most important part of my life. I know you’re gonna slap me or punch me for saying that—”

“I won’t.”

“—but it’s true.” Zayn holds his own head up, because he’s not a fucking toddler and he can look at Liam without physical guidance if he wants to. Which he does, want to, that is. Zayn never wants to stop looking at Liam, as mushy as that sounds. Liam’s lips catch his attention as they move, talking to Zayn and relocating his hands to Zayn’s neck, letting Zayn get lost in the feel of his hands just below his hairline, scratching and teasing the small hairs Zayn has there. “You’re my best mate and nothing is changing that. That’s never changing. Babe, why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you talk to me? I can’t read your mind about these things. I won’t know how I’m making you feel if you don’t tell me.”

Liam breathes apologies across Zayn’s face, waiting for answers and bringing their foreheads together. Zayn can feel the tension between Liam’s brows, his expression so much more lively up close, the concern Zayn created nestled there in between questioning eyes. He’s fucking beautiful, flushed skin from talking, passion in his eyes that throws Zayn off balance, the scattering of wiry hairs on his face now prickling the tips of Zayn’s fingers. Something stuck in Zayn’s throat, a ball of nerves his voice couldn’t work through until Liam pressed them even further together, their noses colliding and hands fisting in fabric until Zayn can speak loud enough to explain himself.

“What am I supposed to say,” he inquires, letting his finger follow patterns of skin and fuzz and birthmarks. “That I don’t want you hanging out with other people? I’m not that selfish and I’m not that lonely, Li. I just—she’s there all the time. All the time. I couldn’t come to you even if I wanted to, she’s always all-fucking-over you. What did you want me to do? I couldn’t very well tell her to fuck off. Well, I could, but I won’t.”

Something troubles Liam, and Zayn wants to go back in time and snap his big fucking mouth closed. “This is all about Danielle? All of the missed calls and texts, and switching lockers with El and Niall; all of this is because you don’t like Danielle? You’re ditching me and lying to me because you don’t like the girl I hang around with?”

Liam moves his head and his hands, and Zayn doesn’t stop him when Liam guides him to the side so he can stand up. So he can stand up and point fingers and run his hands through his stupid hair and look at Zayn with frustration and confusion and hurt. “I thought you were okay with her? You defended her to Louis and El. I was there. She told me you two had a nice chat at the park.” His fingers tug at his hair again, and it drives Zayn insane because that’s supposed to be _his_ thing, and Liam’s not supposed to be attractive and daunting at the same time. “I suppose I’m just trying to understand what your problem is here. You were fine and now you’re not, and I’m-I’m lost, Zayn. I don’t—I’m lost.”

Zayn stands for himself, brushing his wet hair off of his face and shaking from the exposure of his chest in Liam’s stupid shirt. “I told you I hated her, Liam. The message doesn’t get much clearer than that. And I do hate her.” Liam mouth drops open at that, and Zayn tries to remember that breathing properly is a priority; staring at your best mate’s rounded lips is not. “I hate what she did to you. Her presence fucking annoys me, and I think her high-pitched squealing has literally scarred my ear tissue. You want me to be honest? I hate your fucking girlfriend, Liam. She takes up all of your time and she doesn’t even _deserve_ you.”

“Whether or not Danielle is my girlfriend or not, which she isn’t,” he insists, hands flying, stepping closer to Zayn, Zayn not daring to step back, because he’ll be damned if he appears as anything less than strong right now. As fast as Liam had broken down the wall to Zayn’s defenses, he built it back up just as quickly. “The only one with the right to say who does or doesn’t deserve me is _me._ It’s getting really old with the lot of you ganging up on her when you won’t even take the chance to know her.”

“I know everything I need to know about her,” Zayn snaps. “What I know is that she broke your heart, and that’s it. That’s fucking enough for me to say she can go screw herself. I tried, Liam. But I needed time. Why would I want to go bowling with you, or to the movies or whatever dumb places you two went on dates at—because I call bullshit if you say those weren’t dates—I don’t want to play the third wheel? It’s hard enough to be around her without you two rubbing your relationship in my goddamn face.”

“I thought I wanted her, Zayn, but I don’t. She’s nice to hang out with, and she’s the only person I can hang out with.” Liam looks defeated, as if Zayn had physically broken him down. He’s no longer speaking loud with confidence, his voice has taken a slower tone, his shoulders slumping and his head dipping, only looking up at Zayn every few seconds. “Niall and Eleanor won’t speak to me. I assume it has something to do with helping you avoid me and Niall not being able to lie for crap.” Liam lifts his lips into a smile and Zayn smiles back. “Lou hates Danni every bit as much as you do, and Harry goes wherever Lou goes, so…she’s there. She’s in my life as my friend.”

Because Zayn is stubborn and doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up, he says: “I still don’t like her.”

Liam just kind of snaps after that.

“I’m the one who got my fucking heart broken!” Liam’s hands rise from his sides, pattering on his chest, standing right in front of Zayn, his face red with something different now. “Not you, me!”

“I’m the one who had to fucking deal with it!”

Liam laughs, but it’s not bright and golden like it should be, it’s fucking bitter and cruel and it curls around them to create an ugly scene; Liam with risen eyebrows and folded arms and Zayn picking at his nails, his palms rubbing anxiously together. “So I have to be dealt with now, is that it?”

“Shut the hell up,” Zayn says, that’s not what he meant and Liam is aware of that. He’s just being pompous and a bit of a dick. He’s throwing a fit, much like Zayn is, but if he isn’t going to act grown up, Zayn isn’t going to break the pattern. “Don’t put words in my mouth like you don’t know what I mean. She didn’t just hurt you, Liam. She’s not just hurting you.”

Because Zayn can feel it. He can feel the hole in his life that had a familiar Liam shape to it. And it’s bleeding and broken and Zayn _hates_ it, and as much as he wants to blame it on himself, it feels a hell of a lot better letting Danielle take the charge. Every touch she places on Liam’s body, every stray kiss on the cheek, and every fluttering of fingertips on his arm digs a knife into Zayn’s chest, over and over again. This is just the product of a few weeks; Zayn doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle standing in the same room as Liam if things persist.

Zayn doesn’t fucking care what Liam says, the way Danielle looks at Liam is more than friendly.

“How is she hurting anyone? All we do is hang out.” Liam’s advancing, thinking his size is going to intimidate Zayn into a corner again, but he’s wrong, and Zany doesn’t move, lets Liam get as close as he fucking wants. Zayn’s feet aren’t moving unless they’re forced to. “A couple of movies and a dinner here and there aren’t hurting anyone. You won’t fucking talk to me, so I have to spend time with someone.”

The important thing to know about Liam, is that he’s calm. There’s a smile on his face almost always, and he’s generally a happy person. Liam also doesn’t cuss very much at all. When he’s passionate about something, such as a footy match or a FIFA game, he’ll let a few words slip in the heat of the moment. Otherwise, Liam’s anger can be measured down to the amount of times he says fuck, shit, or damn. Whatever curse word you can think of, if Liam says it, he’s not happy at all.

He’s cussed like, twice now in the span of a minute and a few seconds. Zayn wonders if Karen is going to hold true to her word and come drag her raging son away if Liam gets too mad. If steam starts coming out of his ears or some other crazy shit such as that.

“I talk to you.”

“Bullshit, you talk to me.” Liam’s hands fly up around them, and they’re in one another’s breathing space again. Every time he raises his voice at Zayn, it riles him up a little more. Fuck, Liam knows that shit gets to Zayn, yet he stands there, chest heaving and hands carrying on, eyes burning into him. “You won’t even look me in the eye at school. I had to practically drag you out of the back at Ed’s. You had to be _forced_ to have a conversation with me. Then there’s the texts, the only reason I knew you had a real problem with me in the first place.” Liam draws himself up to his full height and Zayn follows, the both of them angry and agitated for no fucking reason at all, really. “If you had a problem, you should have come to me.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn spits, looking away because Liam’s gaze is too fucking intense to look into. There are things there that Zayn’s not comfortable seeing, or fooling himself into seeing. He swears he sees Liam’s eyes flash to his lips, he swears it, but then he comes to his senses, realizes he’s being ridiculous and casts his eyes down. “I don’t have a problem.”

“This is a problem,” Liam says, Zayn’s jaw now in his hands, steering his face towards Liam’s. “You not being able to look at me while I’m talking to you is a problem.”

Zayn looks at him with wide eyes and he can feel his soul on fucking display. He knows that Liam can see right through him then, the way his eyes flicker over the planes of Liam’s face and how his hands fist in Liam’s shirt, the force Liam used to grab his attention astounding him and making want churn in his gut. Zayn never meant for Liam to see this, this was a terrible idea. Zayn doesn’t know what he was thinking, _if_ he was thinking, when he came over here to clear his chest to Liam. He’s not ready for this.

He’s just not ready.

“Get the fuck off me, I’m leaving.” Liam’s not a damn brick wall, as much as he likes to think he is, and Zayn can push really fucking hard, so he does and Liam stumbles back just enough for Zayn to slip through and walk a few steps to the door.

Though he forgot that Liam’s a long-legged bastard, and he’s gripping Zayn’s forearms and spinning him around wildly, steadying him with a hand to the hip and almost making Zayn fall backwards onto Liam’s bed. Fuck, Zayn has to look around just to register where exactly he is in Liam’s room. Zayn wants to be mad, and maybe he is deep down, but Liam’s looking at him and he’s begging for Zayn to stay with the ring his fingers make around Zayn’s wrist.

“You’re not going anywhere until we talk about this.”

Zayn freezes up, goes on lockdown, shutting of anything that doesn’t scream denial. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes there is!” Liam’s yelling again, and Zayn doesn’t think he means to. He’s just getting worked up, and his ginourmous fucking hands are framing Zayn’s face. His eyes are searching, looking at the core of Zayn and trying to find the truth somewhere amongst all the lies. “Tell me what your real problem is with Danielle, with me, with anything. Tell me what’s keeping you away from me and I’ll fix it! What’s coming out of your mouth is bullshit; just tell me what’s really on your mind _for once,_ Zayn!”

“Get out of my face,” Zayn sneers, not really doing much to move against Liam’s hands at all.

“Talk to me, Zee.”

Liam hangs his head and they’re brought together, Liam’s forehead sticking to his, their noses knocking and Zayn’s hands finding comfort in the narrow tapering of Liam’s hips. Zayn pretends he’s doing it to push Liam away, his mind tells him he’s shoving at Liam’s skin, trying to distance their bodies. But Zayn can still feel Liam, from his shoulders to his thighs, and it’s causing a thundering in his chest.

“ _Liam._ ”

“Why don’t you like me talking to her?”

The booming in Liam’s voice is gone, replaced with careful whispers and soft touches, his thumbs tracing Zayn’s jaw and his palms setting fire to his neck. Liam’s following his hands with his lips, sneaking in kisses and questions, and slipping thoughts into Zayn’s mind that shouldn’t be there. Zayn’s mouth is parted, and he wants to fucking answer Liam’s questions, but he can’t _breathe_ with Liam’s mouth on his pulse and his hands roaming over naked skin in this ridiculous tank-top covering Zayn’s shoulders.

It’s an overdrive of sensations and feelings and grossly over-sexualized tension that’s been running on Zayn’s end that makes Zayn unable to speak properly and Liam futile in his mission to make Zayn feel as at ease as possible. Zayn assumes that’s what he’s doing, otherwise this is a really inconvenient time to be kissing on Zayn’s neck and ghosting his hands up his back.

“Talk to me, baby,” Zayn’s skin is damp from open-mouthed kisses and hot air. Liam is everywhere, hands traveling and fingers digging into flesh. Zayn’s eyes fall closed and he just _feels_. He lets Liam’s handprints burn into him; his back and sides and shoulders. He wants to feel Liam, remember what this feels like when Liam’s done, when he’s not taking extreme measures and blurring all the lines Zayn has worked hard to draw in the sand.

“Stop it, fuck—Liam— _stop._ ” Liam snaps Zayn forward then, not caring how their heads knock, as long as he can see Zayn up close. The fact that his protests sound like pleas can’t be helped, not when Liam’s lips are that close to his and Zayn’s almost standing on his feet, the both of them trying to pull each other into nonexistent space.

“Tell me,” Liam bites out, smirk present on his lips when he disappears to actually bite at Zayn’s neck, no longer taking the precautions to lift his chin away from Zayn’s collarbone, and the small but coarse hairs worry at the base of his throat. “Tell me why you’re so angry. Let me know why I can’t be with her. Just say it, Zayn. _Say it._ ”

Zayn doesn’t like when Liam smirks, it reminds him of the origin of his confidence, the faux-cockiness he developed after he got over his break-up with Danielle. The time where he slummed it, spent nights at Andy’s and days at Leona’s, sending cheeky winks to the guys on the swim team and the girls is the stands. It hurls Zayn into a downward spiral, his mind no longer his own. He doesn’t want anyone else’s hands on Liam. He doesn’t want that smirk pressed into a stranger’s neck— _her_ neck.

“You’re mine,” Zayn says, growls almost if anyone can fucking believe it. His arms wrap around Liam’s neck, nails dragging across both shoulders and demanding more attention when Liam stops to laugh breathlessly in Zayn’s throat. “She can’t fucking have you because you’re _mine._ ”

The air around them is no longer platonic and _shit,_ Zayn doesn’t know how to handle that on top of everything else. He’s scared but he’s excited, his nerves rattling underneath his hands and behind his skull. Liam’s pulling back and Zayn isn’t embarrassed to say he yanks him back, because he doesn’t want him going anywhere.

“Yours,” is all Liam says before his lips are against Zayn’s.

It’s not expected but it’s not unwelcome, and Zayn has to fight himself not to stop it. He’s not selfish, at least not when it comes to Liam, and he never should have said what he just did. Liam wasn’t a piece of property; he wasn’t something Zayn could own and keep captive, away from the prying eyes of curly-haired girls with caramel-toned skin, the spattering of freckles enhancing the beauty Zayn longed to tarnish for just long enough to keep Liam’s eyes away.

As always, they’re hands and soft touches and whispered sentiment; only now Liam’s tongue is in Zayn’s mouth and sliding across his teeth. And his hands are all over the place at once, making Zayn shudder with liveliness and fear, his hands searching to grip onto Liam and his lips trembling as they open and let Liam inside. It’s a risk that Liam took, and Zayn is trying to hammer that into his brain and fit the pieces together all at the same time. But he’s kissing Liam. He’s being held and caressed _—fucking caressed—_ like it means something else to Liam, like there’s a passion behind it that fuels more than the fires of a friendship.

Zayn almost misses it because he’s thinking too fucking much.

“I can hear you.” Liam mouths words against Zayn’s lips and funnily enough, Zayn has to stop and think about what he’s saying. “I can hear you going crazy inside here,” he says, tapping on Zayn’s skull and slipping down to Zayn’s chin and letting his lips roam. Zayn can’t say he minds at all, not without lying. “Don’t do that please—please don’t do that.”

Maybe Zayn is freaking out, just a whole fucking lot. He thinks he has a right, it’s justified and all that. This is a scenario he’s spent the last few years of his life thinking about and vividly trying to avoid. There have been encounters like this between them, scenes Zayn has never been able to get out of his head. Memories Zayn has to remember came out of a bottle, with a drunk Liam in his arms and finger-shaped bruises on his hips that he couldn’t even enjoy the feel of when he woke up unfortunately clothed and with his dignity intact.

This time, though… This time Liam was sober, not a drop of alcohol on his breath, and the more he kissed Zayn—whispered things into him like this was some sort of fucking romance novel and they weren’t just a couple of horny teenagers with too much pent up sexual frustration—the more Zayn’s lungs filled up with unreleased oxygen and terror.

“Stop,” is all he can get out and he knows Liam doesn’t hear him. Liam’s busy marking Zayn up like a marketable whore and fuck, those bruises, god they felt good. But they would be a bitch to cover up. They would be a bitch to _forget._ “Liam, quit your shit. Okay? Liam _—yes—_ I mean, no. _No, Li._ Liam, please stop. Stop.”

“You’re here in my room, in my clothes, Zayn.” Liam isn’t stopping but Zayn hell-bent on enforcing his directions, to be fair. Zayn tries to pull Liam closer, even if his mind tells him to push him away as far as he can, because boys like Liam are too good for boys like Zayn. “You’re so jealous of Danielle and I never understood _why._ I didn’t get it, but I do now. I get it, Zayn.” One of Liam’s legs fall between Zayn’s, and it’s gentle and caring but Liam’s dick is all in Zayn’s business, so it’s not as innocent as Liam plays off to be with his stupid apologetic eyes and big, goofy hands moving to cradle Zayn’s cheeks. The ones on his face, unfortunately. “I’m sorry, Zee. I never meant to hurt you.”

Zayn thinks it’s supposed to go like this: Zayn is supposed to admit to being a jealous bastard and get swept off his feet by the walking stereotypical price that is Liam. Then Liam will lay Zayn down and they’ll make love for the first time, or fuck, because Zayn hates saying making love, but really all he wants to do is make stupid freaking love to his oldest best friend, and it coincides with the plan, so why the hell not. Maybe after that they’ll talk about how they’ve always loved each other and they’ll run through a field of daises because Zayn is positive that’s something Liam would request that they do.

But nothing ever goes according to plan in Zayn’s life, so it shouldn’t surprise him that his insecurities and lack of communication skills fuck everything up. It’s almost funny how fast his mind works to develop a plan that will protect his annoyingly sensitive feelings, something he can thank and blame Louis for.

“I’m not fucking jealous of anyone,” he says, his voice turning hard as a defense mechanism.

Zayn almost falters at the panic in Liam’s face and his rushed apologies and demand for answers. Zayn pushes his way past Liam and out of the room. Liam’s door gets slammed by Zayn’s hurried hands and Liam’s struggling to open it, being as that piece of shit door sticks when it’s shut too hard. It comes in handy to know one’s way around the house, Zayn thinks. He’s grabbing his car keys off of the kitchen table and leaving his wet clothes behind for another day. He’s in the yard and sloshing through the mud in bare feet by the time Liam even gets to the front door.

“Dammit, Zayn, get back inside the house!” It’s raining, pouring harder than it was before and all Zayn has to do is make it to the safety of his car and he can smooth all of this over in the morning when he’s armed with a clear head and a pep-talk from Eleanor and Niall. “Don’t run, okay? You don’t have to run from me, Zee. It’s me you’re talking about. This is us, me and you! It makes _sense_ —just—come back inside. Come back inside with me, Zayn.”

His wording throws Zayn for a loop and has him stopping to catch his breath, disregarding the drops of rain falling down his face and matting his clothes to his body. Leave it up to Liam to know Zayn, to say something to trigger his guilt without knowing, making Zayn whip around and beg, his eyes small, trying to keep out the rain, and miserably failing to keep the tears at bay before they mix with the water on his cheeks.

“Liam, just let it go.” The size of his voice, small and fragile, barely unheard over the storm raging above them—it makes him sick. Because he didn’t do this. Zayn didn’t pour out his feelings, nor did he beg, but tonight he had already done both and it left something unsettled in his stomach. But he also didn’t go around accepting kisses from his best mate, so tonight was just full of fucking firsts. Liam’s hand sprung out to catch Zayn by the wrist, supporting his weight when Zayn’s knees unwillingly went weak. “Just let me go.”

“Not this time,” he says, doing nothing to help defuse the confusion sitting at the front of Zayn’s mind. Zayn tries to fight Liam’s hands, but Liam’s arms are stronger than Zayn’s will and he’s being pulled close, his head cradled in Liam’s hands and his resolve lying somewhere on the ground between them. “I’m not letting you go again, Zayn. Not again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That night at Harry’s, the night we’re both pretending didn’t happen?” Zayn’s mouth falls open, and if it was possible, his legs give out even more. Liam’s thumbs fall to his neck, thumbing underneath his jaw. “I tried to tell you that I loved you, I tried to say it back but you left me there. I felt like a right idiot for it, I thought you were drunk or high or something. Zayn, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and you finally said you loved me back.” Zayn looks into Liam’s eyes, trying to suss out a lie, but he can’t tell, he’s not sure and that forms a whine deep in his throat. “I thought someone was playing a trick on me.”

Zayn tries to piece together an explanation, make sense of what Liam is saying, but he’s coming up blank and his mind carries him to a dark place. A place where Liam is his best friend and he would do just about anything for anyone he loved, including expressing faux feelings for Zayn if he happened to figure out Zayn was hopelessly fucking in love with him. It would make sense, better sense than Liam falling in love with him out of the blue.

“Don’t do that,” Zayn yells, trying not to focus on the clumps of Liam’s wet eyelashes. “Don’t do that to me, because it isn’t fucking _fair._ You can’t go along with something like this, something as big as how I feel about you, just because you think it’s what I want.” Zayn closes his eyes, his heart not willing to take the guilt or unbearable truth on Liam’s face that he would see should he look back into Liam’s eyes, the place where he’s supposed to find comfort and solace, not permanent heartache and disappointment. But he kind of set himself up for the latter, so… “I know you think you’re helping, but you aren’t.”

“Are you telling me it’s true?” Of course that’s the only thing Liam hears; of course Zayn let it slip out, being that he’s damn horrible with words and he can’t control himself, can’t wrap his head around all of this and he accidentally confessed that he loved Liam as something more than a friend. “If so, how can your feelings be real and mine can’t? How is _that_ fair at all?”

Liam’s hands rip away from Zayn, and the anger in his voice spring Zayn’s eyes open, water seeping in and the vision of a soaking wet Liam brought to the forefront of his sight. It’s cold and dark, and no one is outside sans for them because no one else is so stupidly inclined to have an argument when it’s raining fucking buckets all across town.

“I can’t be your experiment,” Zayn concedes, choosing to ignore the recognition of what’s going on in his screwed up head and his messed up heart. “I don’t want to get fucking heartbroken so you can figure out if you like sucking dick or not. So you can decide that you’re over Danielle and you want something different.” Zayn watches Liam wring his hands and stare holes into Zayn’s silhouette, his irritation obvious and unjustified. “You can’t do that to me. I know— _I know_ I’ve been a shit lately, but you don’t have to do this. We’re okay, alright? I’ll get over all of this, just give me time. Let me get over you.”

“I don’t want you to get over me!”

“Liam, calm d—”

Liam shakes his head, advancing on Zayn, hurt flashing across his features when Zayn moves back, drudging through the mud and water in the yard. “Don’t tell me to calm down. I’ve tried to tell you without—crap—without telling you. Don’t laugh at me; you know what I’m trying to say. All the kisses and the nights at your house? You sleep in my arms, Zayn. I hold your hand when we watch movies. I take care of your sisters and I cook for your parents. How many more things do I have to do until you get the point?”

No, no. That’s not true; it can’t be true, even Zayn isn’t that oblivious. He’s not supposed to be the naïve one, that’s Liam. Liam is the one with the wool over his eyes, not seeing that Zayn is falling for him with every smile and kiss and laugh. It’s not meant to happen like this, _Liam and Zayn_ aren’t meant to happen at all.

“You do all of those things because we’re best friends.”

“I do all of those things because I love you, silly.” Liam gets a hold of him now, dropping Zayn’s hands from where they were swinging manically when he was trying to prove his point and bringing them to Liam’s face. Zayn has a clear view of Liam, as clear as he can have with the distortion of the rain stinging his eyes. “I’m _in love_ with you.”

“You’re in love with me,” Zayn repeats, testing out the weight of the words on his tongue, falling in love with the sensation almost as much as he has for the boy in front of him. “You’re in love with me?”

“I’m in love with you, Zayn.” He slips his hands to Zayn’s waist, yanking him forward, only wincing a little when their foreheads thump together harshly, but Zayn wouldn’t trade the aching in his skull for anything else in the world. Because Liam’s lips are that much closer to his and Zayn has Liam, he’s done fighting him. He’s trusting Liam, plans on falling right into him because Liam is going to catch him. “I love you back.”

Their tongues are sliding against one another’s in the next instant, Zayn making the first move and pressing his lips to Liam’s. It’s insane how much easier it is, how better he can think and breathe and feel with Liam beneath his hands. Liam’s leaving bruises on his hips, bruises that Zayn can now welcome, enjoying in the morning time. There’s no dread or fear for what regrets tomorrow will bring. Because he plans in being with Liam in the morning, waking up to him and rolling over, kissing his within an inch of his life and never letting him escape his sight.

Zayn doesn’t plan on losing Liam now that he has him.

Liam uses his hold on Zayn’s waist to hold him away, breaking the kiss and laughing when Zayn whines like a fucking bitch, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the rain or the state of his clothes, the fixed state of his heart the only thing on his mind. And Liam’s lips. Liam’s lips are a good thing, a very good thing that he would like to get back to if Liam himself wouldn’t be such a dick and deny Zayn what he wants.

Isn’t this whole in love thing about giving in to each other, he’s certain that’s the way Harry and Lou said it worked, he’ll have to talk about that with Liam later. When he doesn’t have an agenda, which is to kiss Liam, kiss his lips and his jaw and just his entire fucking _face_ because he’s waited long enough that he never, ever wants to wait again.

“Hold on, baby,” Liam says, laughing and gripping Zayn at bay, much to his displeasure. “I want to kiss you, I want _you_ to kiss _me._ ” He says this, but Liam’s lips are still so far away, so Zayn’s not sure where his stupid head is at. “But let’s get out of the rain, yeah? ‘Cause that shirt isn’t doing nothing to uh—cover you up. And it’s kind of killing me.”

It’s amusing to Zayn how Liam was talking dirty earlier, sucking marks into Zayn’s skin and letting his hands roam here and there, now he’s blushing because Zayn looks fucking ridiculous in this cut-off and the rain is making it stick to what little skin it covers, his body on display.

“It’s not my fault you walk around naked, Payne. It’s your goddamn shirt.”

“And you look _—shit—_ you look really good in it, but let’s go inside.” Liam drags Zayn, not having to put much effort into it, because if Liam wants to drag Zayn to his room, Zayn isn’t going to be told twice. “I really just want you. Uh—in my bedroom, I mean. So you don’t get cold, yeah?”

Zayn laughs, stopping Liam in the rain to kiss the pout off his lips, because _he fucking can._ Because Liam is in love with Zayn, and Zayn loves him so much more than he ever thought possible. And his heart is swelling big enough to burst out of his fucking chest.

So Zayn goes to Liam’s room, and he takes his clothes off—Liam’s clothes—and he lays there, hiding himself under the covers and snuggling into Liam’s warmth, lazing with him, trading kisses and other things, because he’s waited too long to be modest and gentlemanly.

And Zayn lets Liam lay him down, that’s how it was originally supposed to go, right? It feels good being right on track, Liam opening Zayn up and ghosting his lips and hands over every available surface, Zayn’s teeth sinking into Liam’s shoulder when he comes, because the last thing he wants to happen is to carry on his life knowing that Liam’s mum heard Zayn screaming her son’s name at the top of his lungs when Liam did that thing with his hips.

Zayn ends up punching Liam, the feel of cum in his ass uncomfortable and unpleasant and just fucking _wrong,_ (“You were supposed to put a condom on!” “I wanted to—” “If you say you wanted to feel me, I’m punching you in the kidneys, I swear to God.”) but Liam is laughing and smothering his smile into Zayn’s shoulder, their sweat-sticky skin gluing them together.

Liam doesn’t fucking laugh when Zayn climbs atop him, not showing any regard for their erections sliding together, because Zayn is tired dammit and he wants to sleep. He complains about Zayn being heavy, but Zayn knows it’s because he’s being a tease and Liam is annoyed, so Zayn stays in his place. No fucking way is he sleeping in the wet spot. They fall asleep like that, Zayn ear to Liam’s heartbeat, the best sound he’ll ever hear, and Liam’s hands on Zayn’s bum, the best thing he’ll ever fucking touch. Zayn’s modest like that.

And when he wakes up the next morning, he pulls off to go to the bathroom and Liam’s pulling him back.

“Stay,” he mumbles, his face still stricken with sleep and his movements sluggish at best, but Zayn gets the point, and he’s stumbling back into Liam’s chest, giggling when Liam lets out an oomph that has his chest rising and falling dramatically. If Zayn wasn’t so idiotically happy, he would slug Liam for the insinuation that he’s fat, which he freaking isn’t.

“I have to piss like a racehorse and I’m fucking hungry.” Zayn checks the clock on Liam’s nightstand, not really caring about the time, but he knows Liam will. “Not to mention we have school in like, twenty minutes. So how long am I staying for?”

It’s so simple how he mutters forever, like it’s an afterthought that he hadn’t meant to let slip, but it warms Zayn’s heart regardless of its intent. “Forever,” Liam says, wrapping his hands around Zayn’s middle, rolling him on his back and bringing back memories of the night before. “Forever sounds good to me.”

“Yeah, me too.”

And it’s better than any fairytale Zayn could ever dream up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what'cha think??? :D


	6. but you'll just sit tight and watch it unwind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kill me for the delay, yeah? i've been sick and injured and i suck, i know. there's not much for me to say except i hope the length of this chapter makes up for the wait and i want to assure everyone i haven't stopped writing? 
> 
> i'm actually thinking about another AU after this one. one where zayn is an ex-con and he and liam are fathers unexpectedly and eleanor is zayn's foster sister and it's just a lot, okay? but no, still writing. 
> 
> leave me a comment, i live for those. you guys are wonderful, thank you for reading even though i suck. xx

Zayn opens his eyes to a room full of light, light casting through the open shades and out of the doorway to a bathroom adjacent to where he’s lying down. He has to squint to see properly, the sun blinding him temporarily; and for a moment Zayn forgets where he is. But there’s a distinct pressure on him, a body that he doesn’t immediately recognize until his eyes are drawn down to the heaviness against his chest. It’s Liam, and last night flashes across his memory; the bruising kisses and light touches, mixing in the air with soft moans trapped by bitten lips and sweaty palms.

His mind races and panic sinks in, because fuck—he slept with Liam last night. And not their usual sleeping routine, where Liam’s arms are secured around him and their hips are blatantly set apart. They had sex, Liam buried inside of Zayn and Zayn clutching on to Liam with blunt nails and dry palms, because it was so good, better that he could have imagined and that’s frightening. Because the sun is up, and Zayn can no longer hide in the shadows of the night, keeping his fragile heart at bay and the planes of his open mouth hidden away, safe from himself and the wide stretch of Liam’s smile.

But he wasn’t alone in this, Liam spoke as much, dissolving Zayn’s fear of rejection into nothing with careful hands and whispered words that filled Zayn’s heart to bursting size. It was okay, better than okay, and Zayn was being a fucking baby, stewing over things that were already affirmed as real. As something he could hold in his hands and keep safe, tucked inside his chest. He had nothing to worry about due to the body entrapping his to the mattress, arms spread out wide, and Liam’s entire body making an x across Zayn’s own.

It was stupidly ridiculous how Zayn thought this was adorable, instead of insufferably annoying. The muscles in his arms ache as they’re bent at the elbow with means to rub his hands across Liam’s back, the previous night bringing a grin to his face. Zayn has a hell of a time twisting his neck at an angle steep enough to observe the twitching of muscles brought to life by the sensations of Zayn’s fingertips tracing patterns and shapes into thin, sensitive skin.

“Liam,” he calls, attempting to keep his voice low, not having to try very hard with the hoarseness sticking to his throat, the early morning affecting him more than usual. To be fair, it’s been ages since Zayn’s gotten laid. Or stretched his body quite that far; Liam was a fucking animal. “Liam, wake the fuck up.” Zayn prods at his face then, amused at the way in which Liam’s nose jerks, trying to dispel the tickle at his features. “You’re not light, Liam. Wake up.”

Still unmoving, Zayn decides to spark some motivation into the boy on top of him. Their clothes are lying across the room, most likely at the foot of the bed; but Zayn distinctly remembers Liam ripping his own shirt off of Zayn’s back and throwing across the room, muttering something about it being unfair that Zayn looks better in his clothes than he does. Which is ludicrous at best, and Liam must have never looked in a fucking mirror when he had one of those damn things on. There’s only so much skin that Liam should be allowed to show in public. Like, ever.

And that damn tank top with the sides cut out defied every rule Zayn could think of. Well, just the indecent exposure ones, and the decrees against public nudity, but he was pretty sure those went hand in hand.

“If you don’t get up, Li. Swear to god, I will bite you.” Zayn takes pleasure in knowing Liam can’t hear him to protest his threat. Sinking his teeth into Liam’s skin does sound appealing – in a totally non-vampire-ish way. “I’m going to count to three, you little shit. Get up.”

Liam nods off, moaning in exhaustion and crowding even farther into Zayn, the bristles of his beard catching Zayn’s nipple, making his hips jerk in response.

“Sleep, baby,” he mumbles, not unlike he usually does; only this time it’s with a kiss to Zayn’s chest and a pressing of his abdomen into Zayn’s groin. “Sleep.”

It’s hilarious to Zayn how fast Liam wakes up, his yelp sounding through the room, competing with the laughter bubbling out of Zayn’s mouth when his teeth nick Liam’s shoulder. Well, a bit rougher than a nick, it’s a fast yet efficient stinging of canines and front teeth, no worries for sensuality or passion, the intent to rouse Liam from slumber and nothing else. He’s rolling off as Zayn intended and sending a dark look across the ocean of sheets that now flow between their stark bodies. Zayn’s laughing; his breath caught in his throat, because it’s fucking funny and Liam’s face is priceless.

“What the—crap—Zayn, what was that for?” His voice is still heavy with sleep, and if Zayn wasn’t trying to control himself, or laughing so fucking hard, he would be turned on. No, scratch that, the deep thrum of Liam’s morning voice is turning him on, dammit. Liam’s hands flail for a pillow to bury his face in and he’s casting betrayed eyes at Zayn. “I was sleeping.”

“And I was suffocating.” Now that they’re apart, and Liam’s skin isn’t under his fingers or sticking to his stomach, it’s awkward and the air between them is heavy with questions that Zayn doesn’t yet have the answers to. “We missed school, you know. I’m surprised your mum didn’t come up here and drag you out by your ears. What with you having a perfect attendance record and all that.”

Liam’s eyes open for a second, pupils dancing across Zayn’s body: from his eyes still lidded with sleep down to his hips, flimsily covered by a sheet that’s not doing much to hide his growing attraction to Liam’s bare back and shoulders, the teasing of more naked skin lying just beneath the covers he’d hogged to wrap himself in the night before.

Liam’s hand wander across the mattress, catching Zayn’s thigh and trickling fingers along it, raising hairs on his leg and fastening his heartbeat. “You really want to talk about my attendance record right now?”

Zayn swallows thickly, words and spit sticking in his throat. His eyes drift shut for a moment and he tries in vain to gain some composure, but Liam’s hands are moving honey-slow, up and down his thighs, stopping before they get to Zayn’s cock, that’s tenting the sheet over his hips and moving to stand near his belly. Liam prods his legs apart, long fingers tugging at knees and calves until the slick of hours before is exposed there between Zayn’s thighs, shocking Zayn and pleasing Liam. It’s sticky when he moves, not uncomfortable or foreign, just surprising and unfelt until now.

“What-uh, what else would we talk about?” Zayn’s not a nervous person, doesn’t stutter easily, but the glint in Liam’s eyes is sin, pure fucking sin that has Zayn wanting to fall back into the sheets and writhe while they replay their night over again in the broadcasting of the daylight. Curtains letting light spill through onto Liam’s shoulders, rays playing over Zayn’s fingers and Liam’s full lips. Sheets alternating between being scattered on the floor or tangled between their thighs or knotted in the grip of their hands.

Fuck, he’s got to focus. There’s so much more to this, so many things to work through and talk about before Zayn walks out of that room, so he’s aware of what he’s getting into. So he knows that Liam is aware of what this is, something serious and tangible and not just a romp between covers and additional bedding. Not a one-night-stand or a fling, Zayn can’t do a fling, not with Liam. So he needs to know. He needs to be sure that this is what he thinks it is; that his mind isn’t creating a fictional relationship. Getting an inch and taking a mile.

“We don’t have to talk at all.”

Liam retracts his hand and chuckles to himself when Zayn whimpers at the sudden loss, not taking too kindly to Liam’s hands drifting away and not coming back immediately. He’s crawling, though, inching towards Zayn on all fours, unashamed at his naked ass sticking in the air. If Zayn could fucking breathe properly, he would laugh. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.

“We could do this,” he suggests, throwing a leg over Zayn’s hips and invading his space, being a bastard at the teasing slide of their cocks together. “Or this,” and then his hands are in Zayn’s hair, pulling him close and letting their lips press together faintly, so light that Zayn wouldn’t realize he was being kissed if his eyes weren’t blown wide open and fighting off sleep, staring right at Liam. Fingers are carding through Zayn’s hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails tilting his head backwards. “And I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to this,” he says, nipping at Zayn’s chin and stinging his lips on the stubble coating his jaw, peppering kisses down his face and along his neck.

“When the fuck did you—shit, right there,—when did you get so smooth, Payne?” Zayn’s neck is pulsing, and his dick is fucking throbbing. Liam doesn’t mind Zayn’s hands taking rest at his back, his nails unkind to the broad threads of muscle and bone. “When did you get game? And why wasn’t I aware of it?”

Liam’s breath is affectionate on Zayn’s neck, where he’s making quick work of the marks already littering Zayn’s throat, darkening them and using his thumbs to bring Zayn’s attention to light bruises he’s left behind.

“I’ve had game, even used it on you a few times. You never noticed, though.” Liam’s mouth is going lower, plump lips accompanying teeth to the collarbone and chest housing Zayn’s thundering heart. “I kissed your neck, like this,” he says, emphasizing his statement with a ghosting of his mouth on Zayn’s pulse, before moving back to his clavicle, dipping his head and contorting his body in a way that has them slipping against one another. “And I held your hand. I slept in your bed and woke you up with kisses to your face. There’s not much else I could do, Zayn.”

“You never said anything,” Zayn says, moving compliantly under Liam’s gentle hands that are guiding him backwards to sprawl underneath Liam’s gentle hands and gentler mouth. “All this time and you never said anything.” Zayn wants to bring up the string of people Liam’s dated, messed around with, even. But he thinks that would ruin the mood, and as much as he wants to talk, he really wants Liam to keep kissing him and aligning their groins and pressing Zayn into the mattress with his fucking heavy body. “You never said a thing, Li. I didn’t know. God, if I knew…”

If Zayn knew Liam returned feelings for him, or just attraction, Zayn would have been doing this a hell of a lot sooner.

“You never said anything either,” is Liam’s reply, hardly heard over Zayn’s subtle pants occupying the otherwise quiet room, besides the rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin and smacking of kisses. “There was fucking Danny, and Anthony and I didn’t know I felt—” Liam stops to bite at Zayn’s nipple, humming over taut skin while Zayn hisses at the attention, finding the blades of Liam’s shoulders and piercing them with his fingertips. “I was thirteen when I first figured out I had a crush on you. I think—babe, that hurts—I think it was the scariest thing at the time. Every year it got worse, and you seemed to care less about spending time with me, like this, in my bed. When we watched movies together and you tucked me into your chest.”

“I stopped tucking you into my chest because you became a fucking giant.”

“Did it for you,” he whispers, twisting his arms to get a hold of Zayn’s wrists, bringing his arms above his head and catching his lips, their tongues lick at each other, share space and heat, eating up moans and grunts when Liam ruts against Zayn, a delicious slide of their dicks forcing Zayn’s mouth open wider and Liam’s grip on his wrists tighter. “Wanted you to see me as more than this little kid running around in your shadow. It never worked, I could never get big enough. It was never enough.”

Zayn laughs, the sound free from bitterness, and that makes Liam raise his head and smile down at him, lifting a brow in question as to what’s so funny.

“You obviously didn’t have eyes, because I’ve been checking you out since you came back from swim camp with Louis.” When Liam’s head falls to press his smile into Zayn’s, his lip is taken by sharp teeth and a broad grin. A whine comes from the back of Liam’s throat and Zayn frees his hands to let them travel near Liam’s waist. “I can’t even count the number of times I had to leave for home to rub one out. I’ve only ever had eyes for you, idiot.”

Liam seems pleased by this, and Zayn’s honesty is rewarded by a firm hand to his dick, twisting gently and thumbing over the head of his cock like Liam’s done this plenty of times before. That makes something stir dangerously in his stomach, the thought of Liam doing this with other guys, making them feel good by towering above them and sucking kisses into their neck. Zayn’s jealousy is swallowed down by Liam’s tongue, his fingers relentless as they move up and down Zayn’s shaft and his arm shaking trying to hold his weight above Zayn.

“Did Louis tell you to say that,” he mocks, his voice dripping with need and hot with need, need for Zayn’s hands and body and lips. “Maybe Harry? Yeah, that sounds like a Harry line. I’m impressed.”

“Fuck you.”

Liam’s smile is dirty and Zayn’s never seen a look he likes on Liam so much. “That’s the plan, babe.”

Before Zayn can stop him, even though he wouldn’t dream of actually putting a kink in Liam’s plans. Because so far Liam’s had some pretty fucking great plans, where the two of them are concerned. His hands fit over Zayn’s skin like they’re meant to be there, like some screwed up, weird form of fate that Zayn doesn’t try to understand, but he feels it. Feels it in the way Zayn’s hips fit perfectly in Liam’s palm, how their lips find one another when nothing else is making sense to Zayn, as if Liam knows he’s freaking out, and it’s a consoling touch of skin against skin. The weight of Liam against his chest and thighs and shoulders anchoring him in place, making it impossible for Zayn to drift away into ludicrous allusions of fallacies and potential brokenheartedness.

“I’m scared,” he mutters into the air, speaking to himself, maybe Liam. Maybe no one. “I’m so scared. So, so fucking scared.”

He doesn’t know where it comes from, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what he’s scared of. Whether it be Liam’s hands on his heart, or on his thighs, traveling back to his hole, where remnants of last night still remain, like a memory Zayn can feel in stickiness and phantom sensations of fullness.

But Liam gets it, because he gets Zayn. He can read Zayn like a book, lines of blatant bullshit intriguing him, because Zayn can’t imagine there’s anything good to read other than long pages scribbled with dumb teenage angst and tales of chasing after one’s best friend, scared of rejection and the possibility that everything will work out, and Zayn will be left forever in Liam’s debt, because it took a lot for someone like Liam to love someone like Zayn.

“So am I,” he reasons, capturing the gasps falling from Zayn’s lips with soft kisses as his fingers drag lower, abandoning Zayn’s dick in turn for the heat between the back of his thighs. Nimble fingers stretch him open, slippery from the night before, exciting the both of them, because that’s Liam.

That’s Liam and a strange mix of dumbly flavored lube that Zayn found in Liam’s drawer. And the thought of Liam marking him up, inside and out, in his hole and his neck and the heart he’d claimed that was beating inside of Zayn’s chest, that made him drag Liam down to him again, just so he could breathe him in, bury his face in Liam’s neck and let the tangy smell of sweat and sex and Liam fill his senses.

“I’m scared, but I have you.” Zayn stays quiet, small noises of satisfaction the only things erupting from his lips. “And if this—if he don’t work out—that’s not something I know how to handle. I don’t know, Zayn. I don’t know what I’ll do,” he says, his own face in Zayn’s neck, talking against damp skin and the pitter-pattering of Zayn’s pulse. “But I have this, you. Us. I want you, okay? I want to wake up in the morning with you right next to me, and I want to hold you hand and kiss your face and know that you’re mine. I don’t want to be your friend. I can’t be your friend anymore, Zee. I need this, I need more.”

“Well when you put it like—uh, Liam—when you put it like that.” Liam twists his fingers, leaving Zayn’s throat for a moment to focus on the task at hand, or uh, mouth right about now. His tongue follows his fingers, trailing paths his fingertips have previous taken, making Zayn thrash in the sheets with his mouth at Zayn’s hole. He’s wet with saliva and Liam and lube and he can’t control his limbs. Liam takes time to bite at Zayn’s thighs, leaving open-mouthed kisses in the wake of pink marks. “Let’s do this, then, yeah? Me and you?”

The spread of Liam’s lips is blinding, spit running down his chin before he has a chance to bring up the back of his hand to wipe it away. Zayn groans at the sight and Liam lifts his body to kiss at Zayn’s cock, slipping the head in between two kiss-bitten lips and teasing him with a few sucks before leaving Zayn’s dick full and heavy at his stomach, moving to kiss his hips and belly and lick at his nipples. Zayn can’t forget what this means, not even in the stuffy heat of the moment. Liam and Zayn, they’re…them. They’re how Zayn supposes they should have been for a long while. Both of them harboring hidden feelings and emotions, hurting one another in the process.

Now Zayn doesn’t have to worry about Danielle, or Andy or anyone, because Liam loves him as more than a friend. There’s an underlying of possession in the dark marks he sucks into Zayn’s skin, and the firm hand he has on his hip. And Liam is his, too. He belongs right here in Zayn’s arms and on Zayn’s lips, their smiles pressing together and tongues meeting in an enthusiastic swapping of spit and love and really fucking kinky phrases that Zayn didn’t even know Liam knew how to speak.

“You mean it?”

Zayn bats Liam’s hands away, trying to have a damn moment here. But Liam doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop touching him, kissing him, scratching and rubbing at him until they’re impossibly close and Liam’s lifting up Zayn’s thighs, wrapping them around his legs and deftly maneuvering Zayn’s leg up and above his shoulder. They fit perfectly, and Liam casts eyes soft with want and what Zayn thinks might be unconditional love that makes his heart almost burn right through his chest cavity.

“I mean it, Li. I mean it.” Zayn’s thankful he never stopped practicing with Niall, always stayed committed to flexing his body and stretching himself as far as he could go, needing the flexibility for how outlandishly far Liam stretches Zayn, one of his calves around Liam’s waist, and the other bending between their bodies on Liam’s shoulder. A solid burn, a good one, lighting him up as Liam bends himself forward to seal their declarations with a kiss. “I love you. I know it’s— _this_ is less than twenty four hours old—but I love you. I really, really do. I love you, Liam. Fuck, I love you.”

Liam stops kissing his cheeks then, and Zayn’s pretty sure his leg has gone numb in the time its taken Liam to finish his welcome assault on Zayn’s face. His eyes are dark with something Zayn can only describe as lust, because he’s sure it matches the already blown pupils Zayn might see if he happens upon a mirror. Liam reaches down to Zayn, his slippery hole, wet and ready and he teases him beyond comfort, making him whine loudly and letting his hands bruise the skin of Liam’s ass with claw-like scratches and yelps for more. All Zayn wants is more.

His confession hangs in the air, not uncomfortably, seeing that Liam has already told Zayn he loves him, at a time much like this where Zayn wasn’t sure he wasn’t just running on adrenaline and the assessment of hands on his dick other than his own. But now it was real and Zayn had faith in Liam to repeat the words back to him, all he really wanted was for him to hurry the fuck up, stop playing with Zayn, tuning him up like an instrument and just _play_ him already, Christ.

“I love you, too.” For Liam, who could talk a blue streak if he really wanted, it’s not much, but he’s busy, and thank god, he is. Zayn can feel him, pressing his dick along Zayn’s hole, teasing him with the hint of a stretch before pulling out, chuckling under his breath at the noises of distress Zayn’s now shouting, no consideration for quietness or discretion. “That’s it, baby. Beg. You want it, don’t you?”

“You sound fucking ridiculous, just do it already.”

And he does, he slides into Zayn quickly, the heel of Zayn’s foot urging him deeper, digging into the small of his back. There’s a slap, and another one, and another. Liam’s thrusting slowly, pulling Zayn apart, applying pressure to his leg and pressing into him in long, quick strokes. Zayn doesn’t think anything can top last night, where Liam entered him slowly, whispering his affections at Zayn’s shoulder and jutting into his prostate over and over again until Zayn came between their bellies, and Liam flipped them over, moving Zayn’s hips in every motion possible while he rode him. Until eventually Zayn was bouncing, trying his hardest to coerce an orgasm out of Liam, satisfied if a little miffed when Liam shot deep inside him.

Now it’s faster, and Zayn can’t speak, not even entertaining the thought of stringing sentences together while Liam is pounding, his balls on Zayn’s ass, filling the room with sounds of pleasure and lust and really fucking good sex. Liam lets his cock slide out of Zayn, covering his mouth with a kiss that eats every moan flowing out of Zayn’s lips. He lies on his side and brings Zayn’s back to his chest, wrapping warm fingers around Zayn’s thigh and lifting it, spooning him and entering him at the same time. The position is great, and Liam’s going deeper, splitting Zayn open, right down the middle in fucking two.

“You feel so good, babe. Doing so well.” Liam’s talking behind him, teeth threatening the shell of Zayn’s ear. Zayn would call him a douche bag, tell him he doesn’t need a running commentary during sex, if he could actually speak, put one word in front of another and utter them instead of panting in a rhythm, his hips slamming back and down in an attempt to meet Liam’s thrusts. “I love you so much. Love you, love you, love you.”

Liam wraps a hand across Zayn’s chest, hooking his chin over Zayn’s shoulder, egging his head down to watch his own cock, the kinky bastard getting great satisfaction out of biting Zayn’s shoulder to stop him from touching his dick, making this move along a little faster. They lay there, moving against each other, then with one another and they keep their eyes glued to Zayn’s cock, Liam’s hand snaking across Zayn’s arm to take a hold of his hand. When Zayn comes, he closes his eyes, taking everything in and getting drunk off the kisses Liam’s imprinting onto his body.

Zayn’s heat is stretched around Liam’s cock, and when he comes in splashes across his belly, Liam isn’t far behind with the clenching of Zayn’s hole coaxing come out of him, right into Zayn, making him feel dirty and wanted and loved; filthy in a good way, a way that stamped him as the property of another human being.

They lie above sheets and covers, Liam slipping out of Zayn and following trails of sweat down Zayn’s body with his tongue. Zayn wants to say something, but nothing sounds right, nothing he can think of that hasn’t already been said with the slapping of skin and the pressure of kisses on spines.

He’s aware that there’s more to talk about, more to the story than Zayn’s letting on. The consideration of staying put, right here in this town, right here in Liam’s arms lugging him down. But for the moment, he isn’t running. He’s stopped, and Liam’s the one responsible for tethering him to the ground, not letting Zayn or his heart float away to another continent.

Right now, in this moment, Liam’s arms are the only place Zayn wants to run to.

-

When Zayn wakes up a third time and the sun is less bright and not near as harsh on his eyes, all he has to do is pinch the skin at Liam’s hip between his fingers to get him to move. It’s funny how they went to sleep spooning, not an unusual practice for the two of them, and now instead of Zayn waking up in the same position he fell asleep in, Liam’s pushed him onto his back, his shoulders and neck pillowed on clumped up sheets, both of them giving up on finding Liam’s pillows in the mess they created of Liam’s previously immaculate room. And Liam’s sacked against him, just like last time, like he couldn’t imagine letting Zayn go, his arms tight around Zayn’s waist and his leg slotted in the open space between Zayn’s thighs.

Liam doesn’t yelp this time, makes no noise, just rolls over, exposing himself to Zayn’s eyes, long lines of defined musculature and an ass that Zayn could bite, that he fucking plans to bite sometime soon, as soon as he gets back from the restroom, and maybe the kitchen. His stomach grumbles in agreement and Zayn’s hurrying out of bed, emptying his bladder and only coming back to bed to dig out clothes and worry his lips over Liam’s skin.

Zayn pads over to the window, intent on shutting the shades, because after he eats, he very well plans on climbing back into bed and memorizing every plane on Liam’s body, from his hairline down to his calves and the subtle arch of his feet.

“Shit,” he says, noticing Karen’s car in the driveway, and Zayn’s rinky-dink car flooded in the street, mud coating the tires and he’ll be stuck here for the rest of the day, which isn’t terrible, but he doesn’t feel particularly up to calling someone to tow his car out of the mud. Also, he really, really hopes that Karen only just got home, for lunch maybe. There’s nothing on his karmatic scale evil enough to afford him an earful about loud sex from his—boyfriend??? Was Liam his boyfriend?—his boyfriend’s mum, the lady who fed and clothed him and ran him bubbles baths when he was younger. No, Zayn did nothing to deserve that.

His legs are sore, in a good ache that has his lips stretching into a smile as he finds clothes on the floor, Liam’s huge shirt, this time one with the sides intact and he slips on that and a pair of boxers that covers his modesty. He creaks out, rolling his eyes when Liam bunches the crinkled sheets into his arm as a shitty substitute for Zayn’s missing body warmth.

The house is quiet sans for a steady clicking of what Zayn assumes to be computer keys, and when he emerges from the bottom of the stairs, Karen is there at the kitchen table where he left her the night before, in her own world, fingers flying over the keyboard and mouth wrapped around a straw containing a cold drink.

When she hears Zayn open the refrigerator, the tapping stops and Zayn gets out a pudding cup, glad that Eleanor’s knack for snack foods had finally rubbed off on Liam and he wasn’t stuck chewing over the grains of one of his stupidly healthy granola bars. Fat-free chocolate granola bars are the reason Zayn has trust issues, that and oatmeal raisin cookies disguised as chocolate chips. Karen sips loudly at her drink to catch Zayn’s attention and when he looks over at her, her grin matches her son’s stretching from one side of her mouth to the other, looking at Zayn like she knows a secret he’s not yet privy to.

“What are you so smug about,” he asks, digging a spoon out of the drawer beside the sink and sitting down at the kitchen isle. “The smile on your face makes me very worried for canaries everywhere, Miss Karen. What?”

“I’m getting my grandkids, that’s what.”

Zayn’s cheeks have to be bright red, he can feel the heat coming from them and traveling down to his chest. He sits there, perched on a stool with a spoon hanging from his mouth, his pudding barely sliding down his throat before he’s immersed in a coughing fit and Karen’s giggling at him, like she just cracked the funniest joke in the world, even though hinting at Zayn and her son having sex is not funny at all. Not to him, at the very least.

“Um, what makes you think that?”

He’s just going to play dumb; it worked for Niall plenty of times, Harry and Eleanor too, so it had to extend to Zayn as well. Though Karen wasn’t easily fooled and the smugness still hadn’t left her face, even as she stood up and gathered her computer, stowing it away in her laptop bag. “The fact that my son’s car is in the driveway on a school day, as is yours.” Karen slings her bag over one shoulder and walks to Zayn, meeting him at the island and grabbing his hands, dipping a finger into his pudding and kissing his nose. “And you’re wearing his boxers, babe. I bought those for him last Christmas, not very subtle, neither are the Hoover marks all along your neck. Try harder next time, hun.” 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, unsure of what to say, or how to approach this, seeing as he’s still unaware if Liam’s mum is making assumptions off of what she’s seen or heard. Or horrifyingly, both. “I don’t know why I’m saying sorry, but I feel like it should be said. I think there’s an apology in line for uh, defiling—nope, wrong word—for being with—still wrong.” Zayn releases his hand from Karen’s and slaps his forehead, frowning at her amused chuckles. “I’m gonna shut up now.”

“No need to be sorry, Zayn.” She rests the back of her hand on her own forehead, sighing dramatically and staring off into space, putting on the theatrics. “I remember what it was like to be young once.” It makes Zayn’s stomach settle a little when he realizes she’s comfortable enough with the thought of Zayn with her son to be cracking jokes. “But I’m only here for lunch, thought one of you might surface after a long nap. I’m off to work now, got to pay the bills. You tell my son that skipping school to have sex is not on the scholarship plan, and this is a one time thing.”

She points her finger at him sternly and Zayn’s blush is back in tenfold. “Yes ma’am.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continues, heading for the door. “I’m happy for the two of you; it’s been a long time coming.”

“It has, would have been nice if someone would have told me Liam was in love with me before now, but yeah.”

“Figured that was your business,” Karen says, opening the front door.

Zayn finally smiles back at her, leading himself into more easy conversation. “’Cause that’s stopped you before.”

She waves her hand at him, dismissing him with a relaxed smile. “Hush up, now. And don’t let my son screw this up. You either, Malik.” She closes the door behind her and peeks her head around. “I want those grandkids.”

She’s gone and the door is shutting behind her before Zayn can make a well-deserved smart ass reply, but he thinks that’s alright. Because someone is happy for them, and Zayn’s sure there’s more to come, in various degrees of hugs from Niall and sloppy kisses from Eleanor. Not to mention the cheering Harry and Louis are bound to do, with a few expected punches from Zayn’s favorite Doncaster boy for not calling him immediately. Though, that would have been quite difficult to do with Zayn’s legs wrapped around Liam’s legs, and Liam’s tongue in places he’s sure Louis doesn’t want to hear about.

But it makes him giddy nonetheless, and he almost slaps the smile off his face himself. Or pinches his arm because he’s not sure how he got so lucky and that this is all real. Zayn throws his empty pudding cup away and gets out the ingredients for omelets, disregarding the late time and the afternoon sun shining in through the curtains.

Zayn can’t really be expected to be in love on an empty fucking stomach.

/////

Zayn’s finishing up an omelet when he hears Liam moving around upstairs. The layer of eggs in the pan won’t flip, and he’s getting frustrated, but eventually he gets it to flip over, cheese oozing out of the sides and bacon poking out of the top in odd ways that doesn’t make it the most appealing breakfast food Zayn’s ever made, but it’s edible. And it crackles and pops, browning a bit more than he’d like before he has a chance to slide it on to a plate.

“Delicious,” Liam says, walking into the kitchen. He’s got boxers on, but no shirt, and Zayn only glances back and then turns again to his task at hand, devouring his food while standing at the bar. Liam grumbles about being ignored and moves his body against Zayn’s, intentionally pressing his chest to Zayn’s back. “The food looks good too.”

Zayn snorts, nearly choking on his omelet and rolls his eyes at Liam, grinning around a mouthful of food when the caress of Liam’s fingertips graze along the tops of the boxers on his hips. “That’s the worst line in the history of ever. Don’t call me delicious, I’m not a desert cake. You can do better than that.”

Liam’s chin settles over Zayn’s shoulder, the scratch of his beard rough on Zayn’s skin. A good rough, a rough that makes Zayn want to turn around and quest his fingers over Liam’s body and drink him in, eat his kisses and smother his cheeks with those annoying pecks that Liam likes to slather all over Zayn’s cheekbones and eyelids. A whine vibrates at Zayn’s back when he shovels more food into his mouth, coming from Liam and his rumbling stomach. Zayn gathers a bite of egg, bacon and cheese onto a fork, holding it over his shoulder and turning his head to make sure Liam eats it.

Which is a bad idea, because watching Liam wrap his lips around a fork, his tongue pulling food back into his mouth and chew, the muscles in his jaw and the veins in his neck moving to accommodate his intentions—yeah, that does something funny to Zayn’s own stomach, causing a fluster of sensations that have nothing to do with being hungry.

“You know,” he says, letting his fork drop onto his plate with a clang and turning his body into Liam’s, their groins meeting and hands intertwining while Liam places Zayn’s palms on either side of his face, moving his head around to let the scratch of his bristly chin run coarsely over Zayn’s skin. “I’m getting really upset that you’re had these porn star tendencies bottled up inside of you, and you never once unleashed them before now.” Liam glowers at him and swiftly brings his hands down to pinch at Zayn’s bum, letting a laugh rip loose from Zayn’s chest. “No, I’m serious. ‘Oh, delicious, and I’m not talking about the food.’ And we can’t forget, ‘You feel so good, baby. Uh, yeah’. I’m surprised, pleasantly so. Go, Liam.”

Zayn can’t be bothered to catch his breath, not even when Liam leans over and bites him, a trick he got from Zayn, but put his own spin on, his lips, his big fucking lips peppering kisses at skin after nipping at flesh. He’s squeezing Zayn’s bum, his fingers digging into muscles relentlessly and forcing Zayn closer to the erection Zayn’s guessing he woke up with. “You didn’t like it, huh? ‘Cause I thought you did? I guess all those ‘Please, Liam, please’ screams were for nothing then?”

And Liam’s an ass, because he knows Zayn liked it. Zayn even said he freaking liked it, but Liam never did take teasing well. Although, if Zayn prodding at Liam would always result in thrilling neck bites and ass-grabs that turned his world upside down, much like Liam’s smile and his hair and his stupid, long fingers, well then Zayn would have to do it more often.

“Is this okay?” Liam’s asking Zayn stupid questions, his teeth pillowed on his bottom lip and his eyes darting unsurely to Zayn’s as Liam’s hands splay across the subtle musculature of Zayn’s back, his fingers dipping below hemlines. To sensitive crevices that have Zayn’s hips rushing forward without his consent. “ME touching you like this, I mean? It’s okay, right?”

Zayn wants to laugh, but his mind is a bit preoccupied at the moment, with Liam’s fingers traveling god knows where and his eyes seeking permission, even though they did unspeakably naughty things one storey up just a few hours ago, not once, but twice. And now Liam was wondering if they could fool around in the kitchen, if he could touch Zayn any way he wanted, like Zayn wasn’t standing in the circle of his arms, the twitches and other involuntary movements of his body begging for the heat from Liam’s touch.

“Are you kidding?” Zayn asks, nodding and surging forward to initiate an intricate dance of tongues and breath, wetness and smiles, Liam’s girth encasing the narrow shoulders and hips of Zayn standing beside him. “You just had your dick up my a—”

“Zayn.”

“Yes, it’s okay.” The tip of Liam’s tongue somehow finds its way in between Zayn’s lips, and he tugs on it with his teeth, chasing Liam’s moan down with another pull of his teeth, this time at Liam’s bottom lip. “It’s more than okay, in fact. Want me to show you just how okay it is?”

Liam’s chest is still sinfully bare when Zayn shoves at it, pushing him away and taking his hand to lead him back upstairs, abandoning his breakfast/lunch in order to fill another appetite that’s apparently insatiable now that he’s been granted the permission to kiss Liam’s lips and link their hands with unspoken meaning and intent. And have sex with him. Zayn’s been given a gift by an unknown deity himself to allow his hands to roam over sweat-damp shoulders and pivoting hips on his way to ecstasy with Liam’s name on his tongue, and Liam’s tongue in his mouth.

“I think I’ll be the one doing the showing here today, Malik.” Before Zayn’s presented the chance to ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Liam’s spinning him and picking him up with wide hands under Zayn’s thighs, hoisting him up and nearly giving Zayn a minor heart condition with the visual of Liam’s arms practically bulging at Zayn’s weight. “I’ll show you over and over and over again.”

Zayn squeezes his legs around Liam’s waist in eager animation, enthused at the prospect of Liam doing something completely un-Liam-like and throwing Zayn on the bed, sheets rustling underneath him while Liam begins his assault on Zayn’s senses. Or something, you know, Zayn’s not asking for much. Whatever.

“If by show you mean fuck, then yeah. Show me as many times as you want, big boy.”

Liam climbs the stairs, groaning. “Please never call me that again.”

Zayn does both of them a solid, reaching back to twist the handle of the door open when Liam backs him against it, stopping to catch his breath, only to release it into Zayn’s mouth, their lips seaming together and their hips doing the same, trying to make up for lost time with pressure against one another’s cock in less than advantageous angles.

Words are lost in cavernous mouths and Liam’s backing Zayn into the room, laying him down on the bed. It’s not a throw, but it’s just as hot, with Liam creating a trail of kisses down Zayn’s abdomen that has his begging for more, itching to take off the clothes he just only put back on. And it won’t always be like this, Zayn won’t always want to jump Liam the first chance he gets, because there is more to a relationship than sex, but right now it’s good. Right now Liam’s wrapping his lips around Zayn’s dick, then his balls, and back to his cock again. And Zayn’s waited for this for so long, that he won’t make any complaints. If he and Liam walk around in a sex-induced coma, then so be it.

He can’t really flip Liam, but he tries, and soon enough Liam takes a hint, spreading out amongst the sheets and letting Zayn return the favor, tasting Liam for the first time. And fuck, this is the things dreams are made of. Not Liam’s dick, well, that’s debatable. But spending time with someone, learning every part of their body; educating yourself on the sound of their moans and the quickness in their breath when you looked into their eyes. It was something Zayn couldn’t dream up himself, because before now he didn’t know it existed. Liam was all he had ever asked for and so much more, and Zayn can’t believe how foolish he’d been to let it sit idle in front of his eyes for so long before he bucked up and saddled in for the ride, intent on holding on with both hands.

“Whatever you say, big boy.”

And anything after that was gargled moans and whimpers of pleasure.

/////

“I thought you were dead.”

Eleanor’s voice drones on in Zayn’s ear, and he only listens with half a mind, the other half trying to shuffle through the shirts in Liam’s closet. He could have sworn he left a few jumpers here, even a tee or two, but they’re all either stretched out, and Zayn’s left naked after a very thorough shower with his boyfriend—boyfriend?—yeah. And he’s got to be honest, the longer he stands there in the nude, towel around his ankles and sounds of Liam brushing his teeth in the shower carrying into the room, the more Zayn wants to stay naked. And do naked things. With Liam.

“Are you listening to me? What are you doing? Where are you even at?” But of course Zayn isn’t that lucky, and even if school isn’t a top priority to Zayn right now, seeing as there are only a few more days left before he graduates and never has to walk those halls again, he’s still got to trudge into work for his shift. “You know Liam wasn’t at school today either, and if I didn’t know how much you love his dumb face, I would have totally let Louis start telling people you killed him. Maimed him and threw his body in the river. But I know how obsessed you are with that, too, so it was a no go. So no one thinks you’re like a murderer, don’t worry.”

“Why would anyone think I was a murderer?!”

Eleanor huffs in his ear, and Zayn finally finds a shirt that he doesn’t think will eat him whole, and he slips it over his head. “I knew you weren’t listening.” Zayn doesn’t correct her, or try to defend himself, because he really wasn’t listening. “Look, whatever. I have cheer practice after school, but I was gonna come by with Niall and Louis to drop Harry off. I haven’t seen your ugly mug all day.”

“Your kind words make me want to see you all the more, my dear.”

Someone speaks in the background, and Zayn can make out Harry saying Zayn better get his perky bum into work, because he’s not sweeping for a third day in a row. Which is debatable, because Zayn’s sure as hell not sweeping, and Harry’s not stocking shelves, so there you have it. Zayn laughs and tells Eleanor to pass on a message, telling him to screw himself and start cleaning as soon as he gets to Ed’s.

“He says he’s going to do his worst effort at sweeping the floors, which isn’t very far from his best efforts, if you ask me. But whatever. So if I come up there am I going to see you or are you ditching work as well? Spending more time fine tuning the playlists that coincide with you adolescent angst?”

She must think she’s hilarious. Zayn wonders how much she’ll be laughing when he walks through the door with Liam, her helping of crow too big to consume all at once. Zayn digs out a pair of slacks that don’t fit Liam anymore, slides them over his hips and uses a belt to secure the trousers around his waist while he tells El she can go fuck herself.

“I’ll be up there in a minute. I’m pretty sure my car got flooded, so I’ll have to get a ride up there, but I’ll see you when I get there.” Liam’s shadow precedes him before he walks out of the bathroom. He eyes Zayn, who must look odd dressed in clothing that’s obviously a few sizes too big for him. But his eyes darken, and Zayn has to shake his head swiftly, because they do not have time for another round. And Zayn’s not sure he could get hard even if he wanted to, he’s not as fucking young as he used to be. Given, he’s only eighteen, but still. “Starbuck’s date tonight, yeah? Just me and you, we can catch up? I’ll pay ‘cause I know you don’t have any money, fucking bum.”

Eleanor chooses to disregard Zayn’s strew of abuse while Zayn himself attempts to retreat from Liam’s preying hands. “And what, pray tell, do we need to catch up on? Is there something you’re not telling me, Malik?”

Liam backs Zayn into a corner and his palms ghost over Zayn’s body, from his shoulders down to his back, fingers heating the fabric over Zayn’s spine. Zayn mouths for him to cut it out, exasperated yet not trying very to push him away so he can finish getting ready for what remained of the day. The smack of a kiss echoes through the receiver of Zayn’s phone, and that sets Eleanor off on a string of questions Zayn doesn’t have the current mental capacity to answer with Liam’s mouth on his neck.

“Are you getting sexed up right now?!” She must clap; because Zayn can fucking hear it, along with her girlish screams blasting into his ear drums. “No more brooding for baby Malik, he’s got a boy-toy. Oh, Liam’s going to be pissed. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds. I’ll bring popcorn. And chocolate, maybe to console him, or myself. My baby is growing up, aw!”

“You’re ridiculous, I’m hanging up now.”

Zayn tosses his phone on the bed across the room, hanging up on El’s litany on questions and pinching Liam’s side. “What was that for,” he yelps, mouth still warm on Zayn’s neck, nibbling and pressing his tongue into the pattern of marks he’s made across Zayn’s skin. “I’m gonna be at practice all afternoon, won’t see you until tonight. Coach is going to work me so hard for skipping practice. We have regionals in a week.”

Finally, Zayn manages to get his super sexy, really fucking strong boyfriend off of him, and he prays his work shirt will be long enough to cover the majority of his baggy trousers when he gets to Ed’s. “Not my fault, you should have gone to school, chump. I’m sure Cowell will go easy on you, considering you’re the best talent he has on that team, besides Lou.”

Liam guffaws. “I can swim circles around Louis.”

“He’s a diver, you moron.”

“Still, you can’t blame me for skipping.” Liam wraps his arms around Zayn’s middle, halting him in slipping his shoes on his feet. “You were naked, in my bed. I’m sure Cowell will understand.”

“And now I’m clothed and ready for work, and since you made me drive my shitty car over here, knowing it sucks in the rain, and it’s flooded now, you’re driving me to said workplace.” Something inside Zayn actually shrivels at having to be the mature one right now, when all he wants to do is lay in bed with Liam and cuddle the shit out of him, never coming up for air, because LiamandZayn finally exist, and he hates that life is getting in the way of that. “Also, don’t ever mention my nakedness to Cowell if you ever want to see me naked again before your funeral.”

“Why would I have a funeral?”

“Because you went into detail about my nude body to your swimming coach.”

/////

It’s almost weird, almost. His fingers catching Liam’s as they walk through the parking lot, Liam’s lips grazing Zayn’s knuckles like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they didn’t only consummate—okay, bad word—their whatever-this-is just hours ago, not even a full day in passing prior to the both of them climbing out of Liam’s truck and heading inside to be the single speculation of their group of friends.

“What do we tell them?” Zayn’s not nervous, not at all. If he could, he would run inside and gloat, only taking heckling from Louis and Harry, because despite every harking comment Eleanor has made, the Romeo and Juliet of the group have done a fantastic job of digging under Zayn’s skin. “Do we even tell them? What’s up guys, we had sex last night and we’re in love. That doesn’t roll off the tongue very well at all.” Zayn shakes his head and dethatches his palm from Liam’s. “They’re going to make it a big deal and ruin everything and god, I hate them so much—”

“How about we just show them, yeah?” Liam’s fingers are calming on Zayn’s chin, tilting his head backwards and looking into his eyes with amusement, lips curved into a smile. “Stop freaking out so much, they’ll be happy for us. Granted they’ve probably had some sort of bet going on that we’ll have been the subject of, it’ll be worth it to see the look in Louis’ face, I imagine.”

Liam’s right, and the need to always be correct—something he developed from good ol’ Tommo—Zayn’s skin crawls, in a good way. The way Liam perceives them with innocence, eyes drawn to Zayn filled with something he was so stupid not to have seen before now. Zayn opens his mouth to tell him it’s not that easy, that it shouldn’t be so effortless for Zayn to kiss him and touch him without residual feelings bubbling in his chest and running over in the form of harsh words that might crack the bubble of naivety they’ve woven around them.

But Liam’s there, opening Zayn’s mouth with his teeth, nibbling at gentle skin and letting their tongues slide together, heartbeats matching and hands seeking out palms and fabric. If he didn’t fancy Liam so much, fists would have flying, his pride insulted by the assumption that Liam would be able to shut him up with the contact of his lips on Zayn’s.

Albeit Zayn really didn’t care too much about any line of conversation he had intent of pursuing if Liam’s nails were going to scratch at his neck like they were now, and his lips were going to bruise reassurances into Zayn’s jaw and throat. No, he didn’t realty mind that at all. 

“Come on, you giant… thing.” Zayn pushes Liam away, if only to regain some composure and he pulls him along, fingers clasped. “I’ve got to get to work and you’ve got to get to bloody swim practice, where you wade around in a pull full of deplorable boys in just your knickers.” Zayn tries to swallow down the surprising uproar of jealousy in his gut—wow, that’s weird. But it’s only dispelled with arms around his waist and lips at his neck. “Huh, I don’t know if I could sound anymore British-ly cliché if I tried.”

Louis and Niall’s cars are near the front of the building when they stroll closer. Liam has a thing about refusing to park near other people; his lack of faith in the driving skills of this fair city’s residents is evident in the amount of space he places between his truck and other vehicles. Zayn can’t stand the extra trekking it takes to get anywhere, because Liam is a paranoid bastard, and he says on top of extreme caution, Zayn could use the exercise.

Zayn says Liam can go screw himself, usually, but now Liam’s screwing him, so he doesn’t want to ruin a good thing. It’s still extremely fucking acrimonious and Zayn held steady in his conclusion that Liam had a touch of obsession with his truck and his figure.

“Nice of you to show your faces,” are the first words out of Louis’ mouth, and if Zayn didn’t already want to hit him before, he does now. Given that he wakes up ready to punch Louis in the face, because it’s Louis and Zayn is sure the sentiment is returned. “Holding hands when you have a girlfriend is a little scandalous, innit Liam? Didn’t take you for the cheating kind.”

Zayn can’t even flip Louis off; the older lad has his bum plopped on top of the counter, tangling his hands in Niall’s hair and kicking his feet back and forth. Because Liam has Zayn’s hand wrapped in his own, and try as Zayn might to pull it free, Liam grips his fingers harder and pulls Zayn slightly closer to him. Zayn barely registers the looks he’s getting from customers, Tommy amongst them, and his friends sprawled in The Pit, ‘cause Liam has excellent hands. They’re home to long, thickly-knuckled fingers and palms that warm the skin on Zayn’s back and the fire in his belly. And instead of letting Zayn run rampant and tell Louis to mind his own business, he’s pulling Zayn to his chest, and connecting their foreheads.

“Is this what you meant by showing them, Payne?” Zayn’s arms find themselves around Liam’s neck and Zayn is happy that Liam finds a home in the belt around Zayn’s waist. “Gotta say, didn’t think you’d the one gunning for exhibitionism.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” he says, their faces breaths apart, Zayn playing coy at the knowledge of eyes on his back, overanalyzing his actions. Liam speaks low enough to barely be heard, the others craning in Zayn’s peripheral to get an earful. “I’ve got a fiver that says Harry passes out.”

“My money’s on Niall, Harry will be too happy.”

“What about El?”

“My girl is strong; she can take a little emotional rollercoaster action.”

Liam’s head moves to the side ever so slightly and Zayn inches away, his teeth gnawing his lip. All his worries creep into the forefront of his mind and it’s a bit overwhelming, stirs his stomach up in ways that only Liam Payne has ever managed to create. The realization that Zayn and Liam are diving headfirst into this thing, and baring witness right here in front of all of these people, strangers amongst friends. And—

No, no. Zayn was being an idiot. They weren’t getting married, they were dating.

Zayn could do dating. He could do long nights of studying and early morning kisses. He can definitely do holiday splurging and coffee runs for lunch. Hand-holding, that’s something else he’s good at, especially if it’s Liam. To be completely honest, they’re really not doing much more than what was already established, seeing as their friends haven’t made a remark at their intimate stance, it being no different from the quotidian placement of their wandering eyes and hands. The only difference was Zayn was getting laid now, and that’s most assuredly one thing he doesn’t have a problem with.

Zayn swallows, only dodges Liam’s lips a few more times on purpose, his subconscious subsiding and his playful side showing its head. Liam grumbles at him and holds his hips tighter, eyes glinting at him dangerously. It makes Zayn smile, seeing the appetence in his eyes and feeling the needy curl of his fingers at his back. Zayn hasn’t been wanted in a long time, and if he has, heaven bless the person that has been longing after Zayn with his eyes trained solely on the boy in front of him.

He only laughs once more, that’s all the chances he gets before Liam’s patience runs out and Zayn’s face is guided all the more closer to Liam’s with a hand to Zayn’s chin. Zayn can hear their kiss more than he can feel it, the silence around them making it difficult to focus on anything other than the heavy thump of his heart and the slick of Liam’s lips. It’s a meeting of tongues and mouths and it’s careful as all hell, full of technique and caressing hands as the cheers start to descend upon them and Zayn’s being pulled away from Liam into a hug from his best mates and Liam’s smiling over Harry’s head of curls.

“I told you they would be happy, you donut.”

Customers are baffled as to what is going on, what with Eleanor whooping and Louis shouting encouragement while trying to remove Harry from the floor, where he’s wrapped around Liam’s legs and sighing about how lovely and romantic this is. Niall is kissing Liam’s face, having already joined Eleanor in beleaguering Zayn with sloppy smacks of their lips on his face. God, they were so theatrical.

“Happy?” El asks, feigned outrage obvious in her voice. Or maybe it wasn’t feigned, fuck if he knows. “We’re ecstatic! We’ve been waiting for you two to get your heads out of your asses for ages!” She pinches Zayn’s cheek, and he lets her wrap her long arms around his middle, because he’s missed her and he has to admit that it’s nice to have a group of people so concerned with his wellbeing, no matter how annoying they may be. “Not gonna lie, you could have done this a week ago and Louis would be handing me a gift card for some coffee, but beggars can’t be choosers. This is almost as good as a Toffee Nut Latte.”

“And here I didn’t think anything could top caffeine in your eyes,” Zayn marvels, smiling broadly at a customer because it’s a good fucking day and he wants to. He’s shocked to see Tommy in the store on a weekday, and even more so when he gives Zayn a hug in congratulations on his way to the section of records sorted out specifically for him. “Way to flatter a man,” he says, re-focusing his attention to Eleanor.

Her nose scrunches as she snorts and he’s yanked into another hug, a more vicious one than the last and she’s whispering in his ear while his eyes lock on the crowd in from of him; Liam and Niall hugging and Louis trying to console Harry from his happy and well-intentioned, if annoying tears, all the while Ed beams at him over heads and shoulders of customers queuing around the chaos his friends are seeing to cause in the storefront.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy; I said almost.” Zayn fears for his windpipe as the muscles in El’s arms bulge around his neck, squeezing him for all that he’s worth. Which might not be too much is she restricts his airflow for too much longer. “I’m so happy for you, thrilled even. You deserve this, Zayn.”

“I’m glad I’ve earned your approval,” he grits out, because he has to insert sarcasm somewhere for this not to be totally awkward and weird and too close to his heart. He mouths out the word help to Liam, but the fucker just laughs and carries on with Niall. “Really, my life has finally found meaning.”

If she’s offended by his sharp wit, she doesn’t vocalize her displeasure, just holds on to Zayn a little tighter.

Her chap-stick leaves a slimy residue over his brow when she gives him a friendly kiss and reprieves his lungs to unwrap her arms from his neck and pinch the skin of his cheeks between her nails. “I’m so, so fucking proud that you didn’t skip school to mope around the house to R. Kelly and Usher. Same Girl just doesn’t have the same appeal after the twenty-fifth replay.”

Zayn scolds her with a pinch to the arm for ever thinking he’d listen to R. Kelly at any given time in his life when Usher will do just fine in his place. Also, because he doesn’t mope. “Don’t you have some sort of practice to get to? Some kind of flip or pyramid to do? Hope you’ve laid off the chips, babe, Ni’s looking a little weak.”

Eleanor ignores him in favor of jumping on Liam’s back, spouting off something about how his life is no longer in danger and her plans to kill him were halted for the time being, seeing as she didn’t hurt her precious Zaynie. But the only one who was bound to get hurt was El for calling Zayn precious, one thing which he is not.

“I don’t know why you wanted to kill me,” Liam stammers suspiciously, looking at Zayn who is going to give nothing away, mostly because he has no clue what El is going on about. “But I’m glad that’s settled, then. Let’s all head back to the school, yeah? Me and Lou are gonna be late if we don’t scoot now.” Liam reaches for Zayn as he sneaks past but doesn’t manage to catch him as Zayn’s eager to get into his work attire and start his day. He feels like it’s going to be a good one, better than it already has been. Something he wouldn’t have thought possible.

Sue him, he’s a cynic.

Ed pats Zayn when he emerges from the backroom. When he slides his shirt over his torso and trails his fingers over marks inked into his skin by the sharp teeth and soft lips of the boy he’s been in love with for ages, yeah, his breath gets a little ragged. He has to stop and let it sink in, hum a few lyrics in his brain and rattle out thoughts of doubt that stick to the edges of his mind like cobwebs crawling with spiders filled with the poison seeping into the solid foundation of belief he has in Liam and himself.

Liam is standing there, smile in place and arms open to engulf Zayn and wash away anything telling him that this a temporary fix, something that will tide Zayn over but never last. He’s pressing a soft kiss into Zayn’s hair and telling him that he’ll be at Zayn’s house with his sisters once swimming practice is over.

“I love you,” is blurted by the both of them when Liam pulls away, and they both laugh with tension in their shoulders, not knowing who said it first, just knowing that it came out for the first time in public. Where other people can witness it, making it more real, more vulnerable. Zayn smiles to himself, though, at it even being said at all and he reaches in to kiss Liam again, blind swipes of his tongue in Liam’s mouth and lingering touches of his fingertips near the younger boy’s nape.

It really grinds Zayn’s pride in the dust that he has to stand up a little straighter, even going so far as to stretch on the tips of his toes to reach Liam. He’s a fucking Yeti.

“Now go swim, fish boy.” Zayn can see Ed waving him over to the register and nodding back at the clock. He tries to push Liam away, he does, but Liam’s solid in front of him and all he’s doing is staring at Zayn, like if he blinks Zayn will disappear. Which he can assure Liam, he will not. He’s not going anywhere, not right now. “And bring me supper before you go to my house. I’m fucking starving.”

“You should have eaten before you left then, huh?”

Liam says this with a smirk in place, fingers at Zayn’s waist and their hips slotted together in a suggestive manner that Zayn swore he would only see in the bedroom, not that he’s complaining. Except for now, because Liam has things to do and Zayn has to go make sure Harry’s breathing so he can sweep behind the register before Ed and Bonnie switch shifts. That’s not going to happen if Liam keeps pressing his dick into Zayn’s thigh.

“I _was_ eating before someone interrupted me.”

“I didn’t see you trying to stop me.”

“’Cause I’m choosing shitty omelets over amazing sex.”

“Amazing, was it?”

“ _Shut—_ ”

Liam is jerked backwards and Louis is almost on the receiving end of a punch to the face from Liam and Zayn, but he’s quick and he’s dodging fists and stray slaps and yanking Liam backwards by the collar.

“Honestly, if you two are going to be this way all the time, we may have made a huge mistake by pushing you together.” He has to be speaking ironically, because there is no way Zayn is getting this lecture from the same Louis Tomlinson who made-out with Harry during Sunday afternoon bible study. “I can’t deal with this much sexual tension in the room.” Louis grabs Eleanor’s arm, who in turn grabs Niall’s and they’re on their way out the door. “Come on, guys, let’s get out of here. The pheromones are starting to get to my air supply. I’ve pictured Harry naked three times in the last five minutes, that’s two more than normal.”

Zayn flips him off and Louis releases El’s hand to give him the bird. It speaks wonders about the dynamic of their friendship.

But the way Louis looks at him before he gets in his own car, making sure Liam gets in his truck instead of slipping back inside to see Zayn, it’s not good. It’s a look that tells Zayn this changes things. He knows his mate is happy for him, he’s never lost faith in that. It still doesn’t change the fact that Zayn has made everything so much more difficult.

Because when Zayn leaves, he won’t be leaving behind a best friend.

He’ll be leaving behind a boyfriend.

-

Ed is out the door as soon as Zayn gets behind the register. He tugs Zayn in for a hug and shoves a handful of bills at him, grinning mischievously and skirting out of Zayn’s reach before he can be grabbed and questioned. Zayn barely has time to pocket the cash in a plastic baggie and hide it behind an Al Green record positioned near the register, and then a young girl with pigtails is ringing the assistance bell and asking Zayn if she knows where her mommy went. Zayn doesn’t have time to service the customers in line, much less join the search and rescue team for a child’s mother. Luckily, Annie, who’s told Zayn her name three times and her age several more times than that, has found her mother in The Pit, breastfeeding her small baby.

Zayn snaps at two gentlemen and a stone-age woman who request that Zayn remove her from the premises or make her set up shop and feed her kid another time. The faux feminist in Eleanor would be proud.

Once the queue has gone down and Bonnie comes out from the back, Zayn is about ready for a smoke break, but he remembers that he doesn’t have any on him. He eyes the store and spots Tommy, who’s thumbing records and discs and Zayn sees the familiar outline of a cigarette box in his back pocket. Zayn hollers at Harry to get off his ass and come run the till. Zayn only gets glared at once, but it’s the same older lady that he’d had to put in her conservative place earlier, so he’s not too fucking worried.

“I’ll sneak one of you those for free if you bum me a fag, yeah?”

Zayn’s never been one to beat around the bush, and the wolfish glint in Tommy’s eyes tells Zayn that this is appreciated. “I can most definitely do that,” he says and Zayn watches intently as he sets the records in his hands back on the shelf, scooting them back far enough to remain concealed. Zayn wonders if he does that often and if other people do it as well. He makes a note to search the nooks and crannies of this place later on in the day. “You mind if I come with? Got a back room somewhere or you wanna go in the lot?”

“Lot’s fine with me.”

That’s how Zayn ends up on the hood of Bonnie’s car with Tommy, cutting up and thankfully taking a second cigarette when it’s offered to him. Tommy’s a cool guy. He likes to be called Tommy, flinching when Zayn accidentally called him Tom, just because his full name reminds Zayn of a cartoon character and doesn’t match his personality at all. Not that Zayn knows exactly what a Tommy is supposed to look like, but he doesn’t think this is it.

A dread falls out of Tommy’s ponytail and he’s moving it away from his face with swift fingers. “So what’s your deal, then?”

“I didn’t realize I had a deal,” Zayn speaks around a mouthful of smoke, eyes squinting intently to watch the billows float through the air before travelling up to a dusty grey sky. “Care to elaborate, man?”

Zayn knows he’s off, mind caught around things he didn’t let himself fret over the previous night. Louis’ triggered Zayn’s common sense and he’s been off-kilter ever since. He didn’t really think anyone would notice, especially not one of his customers. But maybe Tommy was more than that now, as a result of the time the kid spent in the store, hounding Zayn for this and that. Not to mention the musical suggestions he gave Zayn and now the cigarette. Yeah, Tommy was definitely a friend.

A friend that apparently saw through Zayn’s bullshit, because he totally needed another one of those.

“I don’t know, man—you just look so… I’ve seen you with that guy before,” he says, collecting his thoughts with a drag of his cigarette. Zayn inhales his own cancer stick before turning his head back in Tommy’s direction. “There’s definite chemistry there. You should be the happiest man in the world right now, but you look fucking miserable.” Embers fade into murky water when Tommy drops his butt into a puddle. “Doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Sometimes it’s not that easy,” Zayn’s fast to explain as a cop-out. The belt that’s holding Liam’s trousers on Zayn’s hips cuts into his stomach like a bad feeling, the buckle rubbing skin in a harsh and unforgiving manner. “Things happen the way you want them to, just not in the right order. Not in the order that you want them to.”

“Well, keepin’ secrets won’t help nothin’.”

He begins to choke on the air in his lungs; it’s not serious enough for Tommy to interfere with a harsh pat on the back, but it’s damn near close. Not for the first time today, Zayn wonders if he’s just that transparent or if Tommy is extremely perceptive. Neither one makes him feel all that comfortable, and he shifts on the hood and crosses his legs at the ankle.

“How do you know I’m keeping a secret?”

“’Cause you just told me.”

By this, Zayn is impressed, no matter how many times he has to grit his teeth to prevent himself from telling Tommy otherwise. There’s an air of understanding that’s new between them and it warms his insides in a way that he’s not yet familiar with, not with Tommy anyway. He likes knowing that someone gets it. It’s a fucking relief.

“And you just look like a man that’s got a guilty conscience,” Tommy adds. He waves his hands in the direction of Zayn’s face, as if a sign is hanging from his nose labeling him a liar, someone who’s not telling the whole story. Which isn’t that far from the truth, but he’d like to think he’s doing it for a good cause. Zayn doesn’t want to hurt Liam, so it’s a necessary lie. “It’s easy to spot if you know what you’re looking for.”

Zayn lifts a suspicious eyebrow. “And you do?”

The younger boy nods, and the harder Zayn stares—without trying to look like a dick—the more obvious it is to him that Tommy’s not as young as he appears to be. And fuck, Zayn really wishes he could call him Tom or something. The prominence of his face and the thick cording of his muscles stand out when Tommy speaks. He over-enunciates his words and flails his arms for emphasis, it’s typical stoner body language in Zayn’s eyes; he can totally see he and Louis smoking a bowl with this kid.

“I know what it looks like, alright.” His cheeky expression is overclouded by anger, but it’s brief. “I watched my old man struggle with cheating on my mum for seven years. A real struggle, huh,” he says, bitter laughter darkening his voice as he busies himself with lighting another cigarette. “Then you’ve got my brother. He’s dying of cancer, the kind you can’t see fucking with you. Worst kept secret in the family. I can smell the lie on him, the sickness too. There’s no use hiding shit, not from people you love. Just makes everything worse, if you ask me.”

Zayn wants to say that he didn’t ask him, didn’t ask for his stories or his honesty, but he knows Tommy’s right. The pressure that puts on his chest doesn’t help his anxiety, and his fingers are twitching for another cigarette, but he paces himself and thinks of Liam; his smile and his eyes, and the way Zayn thinks he would light up if he ever listened to Chiddy Bang. That’s enough to calm him in a matter of seconds, enough so that he’s able to clear things up, draw lines in the sand in order to wash some dirt off of his name.

He’s not that much of a dick, he swears.

“I’m not cheating on him—Liam, his name is Liam.” Zayn waves off Bonnie when she motions for him to come back inside, tapping impatiently at her wrist. “And I don’t have cancer.”

“A secret is a secret. It’s kind of like a lie,” he explains. “The principle of a lie hurts more than the actual lie.”

Zayn’s getting really tired of the tally that’s racking up against him. This kid is a saint, for crying out loud. But Zayn’s never been one to turn his head when he’s wrong, he knows when to fess up and when to shut up. And the truth is staring him in the face, in the form of a boy far past his years in maturity with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a goddamn ponytail that’s threatening to spill dread across his back.

“So I should tell him?”

“You should tell him.”

Zayn’s going to tell Liam about his college plans, about traveling across the world and planting roots in America with one of his best mates. Maybe Liam could tag along once he’s graduated, find a good swimming school, become the next Michael Phelps. No, Zayn wouldn’t mind that at all. He could experience American culture at his fingertips and the hot sun on his cheeks, that and the memories of his grandparents warming the soul tucked inside his chest. When he gets the letter, Liam will be right there opening it with him. He’ll tell him when it comes in, ring him up and let the conversation flow between them over a piece of paper that will change his future.

He’ll tell Liam then. It only makes sense, what with Liam being the first thing that changed his life in the first place.

God, he’s really got to stop letting Harry drag him into mandatory viewings of The Last Song.

“You don’t suppose I could work in a couple more freebies, do ya? For being you’re uh—therapist of sorts? Fairy Godfather? Guiding light, if you will.”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

**/////**

It takes a lot longer than Zayn expected for his mum to approach him about him and Liam. Considering Karen is a fairly good gossip and the both of them had been plotting the joining of their sons since he and Liam were god knows how young. They’re not hiding, not at all, but they don’t want to rub anything in anyone’s face, except Harry and Louis. It felt nice to prove to the both of them how obnoxious it was for someone to start swapping spit with their boyfriend whilst they were supposed to be having a conversation.

Plus, no one really wants to shove their tongue down their partner’s throat with their parents adjacent to them in the living room. That’s fucking weird and even Zayn has standards. No matter how hard it is not to touch Liam all the time, slide calloused hands over smooth planes of skin and stretchy elastic waistbands.

“What are you two doing for lunch today?” Zayn’s mum is working the night shift that day, meaning she has time to prepare a sack lunch consisting of clean-cut sandwiches and bananas, and whatever candy Safaa can sneak in her bag when Liam gives her the all clear. “Any plans with your friends? Are you staying on campus? _What’s the sitch?_ That’s cool to say, right? Sitch?”

“Not unless your Kim Possible, mum,” Waliyha corrects her, taking her lunch off the bar and shoving it into her book-bag, fighting Liam for the last Jello. Liam’s hair is sticking up, and Zayn’s grin is a mile wide at his own handiwork. Post-shower sex was one of Zayn’s new favorite things, no matter how pouty-lipped Liam was about getting dirty after he’d just washed himself. It was worth it. “Thanks for the food.”

She plants herself in front of the television, grabbing her phone from her pocket and letting her face settle into a nice smile that Zayn would like to know the cause of. It better not be a boy, that’s all he’s got to say. Zayn will kill one of those little runts in her class, and Louis will help.

“Today is Chicken and Mash day, so we usually stay in the café,” Liam answers, victoriously spooning green Jello in his mouth and sticking his tongue out at Zayn, who grimaces and slides his waffles out of the toaster. “Why do you ask?”

Zayn knows why she’s asking. She’s being nosy and Zayn is fully aware of the questionable look she sent him last night when he took Liam’s hand and lead him to his bedroom after an amazing rerun of Hell’s Kitchen. He doesn’t dare protest for fear of appearing suspicious, and it’s not like he and Liam had anything to hide. Zayn was almost certain his parents knew he was having sex, albeit not in their house, but they weren’t dense. Still, he wasn’t up for a briefing of his newfound and fucking fantastic relationship with his best friend.

He cut his waffles in silence, sitting pertly on the barstool, tapping his heel and sighing contentedly when Liam’s fingers trailed his spine on his way to deposit his spoon in the sink. He’s not broaching this subject with a ten foot pole.

“Me and your mother just thought lunch would be a good idea.” She says it like it’s a suggestion, but the way Waliyha snorts from the living room and her eyes roam over to Zayn’s, sharpening in a no-nonsense way, he knows it’s not optional. “What do you say the four of us at that little English pub? Pints and cocktail sandwiches, it’ll be fun.”

Bless Liam’s heart, he actually smiles, and it’s nothing short of equal parts genuine and naïve. Zayn stuffs his mouth full of food, conveniently disallowing himself to comment and tell his mum that this doesn’t sound like fun at all. But Liam beats him to the punch, coming to stand behind Zayn and wind his arms around his waist, splaying his fingers over the fluttering of goddamn butterflies that Zayn thinks he’ll always get when Liam touches him.

“That does sound good, given that I can’t drink and all. I do love those little sandwiches though, so we’ll meet you there.”

Zayn struggles to say, _no_ they will not be meeting Trish and Karen to have pints and fucking cocktail-whatever-the-hells, but Liam is squeezing him in honest excitement and the curve of a smile on Zayn’s neck makes him feel horrible for wanting to take this away from Liam. It’s not that Zayn isn’t thrilled about the both of them, but it’s their business and he doesn’t appreciate his mum twisting his arm by way of Liam’s innocence to get them alone and back them in a corner.

“Sure mum, sounds awesome.” Zayn says, ignoring Waliyha when she ushers Safaa in the kitchen and gives Zayn a look of pity and amusement, like this is funny, which Zayn can assure her, it is not. When did she become so evil, huh? Probably got it from El. Zayn’s got to stop letting them hangout together. “We’ll meet you there about half-past noon, sound alright?”

“Fantastic,” she responds, smoothing over Safaa’s hair and moving her towards the door. “I’ll tell Karen. It’ll be a great time.”

“ _Real great,_ ” are Waliyha’s parting words, and Zayn’s just fast enough to stick his foot out to connect with her shin. “I don’t know why she’s being so mysterious. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know you’re fucking. We can hear you, you know. Thin walls, bub, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

Zayn can’t even smack her across the back of the head for cursing because his molecular structure has been frozen in shock and he doesn’t ever think he’ll be able to move at all, in fact. It doesn’t help that Liam finds Waliyha hilarious, when she mentioned hearing the both of them, and Zayn doesn’t suppose he would be reaction in kind if Ruth heard Liam panting his name while Zayn has his lips wrapped around his cock.

Little shit.

“See if you ever get laid again, Payne.”

“Aw, baby, don’t be like that!”

“Get off me, we’re over. Alert the press, Ziam is done.”

“Harry got to you, too? Babe, that name is ridiculous.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore, it’s invalid. I, Zayn Malik, am never sucking your dick again.”

“What about handies?”

“ _Liam._ ”

“You know you love me.”

“Yeah, I kind of do.”

**/////**

Zayn only has one free period during the day, and it’s usually reserved for long naps in Liam’s truck, his hands tucked under his chin and the tendons in his neck cramped from his position on the seat. With the school year coming to an end, Eleanor and Harry are usually dodging teachers in the hallway and sneaking around to the library patio to eat licorice with sticky fingers and stickier smiles during this time of day. So Zayn wanders down the halls and ends up there, shaking his head at their young antics, ones he’d committed just a year before.

“You know, the hickeys on your neck are starting to grow on me, kind of like a decoration, you know? A nice little accessory that lets everyone know you’re getting some.” Eleanor’s tongue is red and Zayn’s slapped away her sugar-coated fingertips twice in the small amount of time he’s been sitting at one of the chairs adjoined with several patios sets on the deck. “At least _someone_ is getting some. It’s been three weeks, can you believe it? Three weeks, what am I a nun— _fuck,_ Harry we almost had eighty!”

This is meant to be a quiet place, where you can bring in a piping hot coffee and a ridiculously large textbook and fill your brain with caffeine and equations. But that had a slim chance of happening when Harry and Eleanor were taking turns tormenting Zayn and kicking a hacky sack back and forth.

Zayn grunts in objection. “You maybe had forty kicks between the two of you. And they’re not that bad, they’re even going away, you tit. Don’t be a drama queen.”

Eleanor smiles sweetly at him, tossing the toy at Harry’s head and stealing back her candy where Zayn had stashed it on his lap when she was preoccupied being a five year old. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth to prove his point about her being immature, just because the universe has Zayn’s back like that.

“I’m sure they’d fade quicker if Liam stopped refreshing them.” Harry puffs out his chest and holds his arm in a wrestling pose, in an imitation that Zayn assumes should be Liam, but is far from it with Harry’s slow voice and skinny arms. “ _Oh, my marks of love are losing their luster, must re-stamp my lover to show my affections. Me, Tarzan. You, Jane._ ”

“Re-stamp my lover—the fuck am I, an envelope, mate?” Zayn waves his hands, yelling to try and distract them from the warming of his cheeks at the thought of Liam as Tarzan, because yeah, that’s pretty hot and Zayn does _not_ need the two of them relaying his flustering to Louis. “Don’t you guys have class somewhere? Something? Go annoy someone somewhere else.”

El points a sharp finger in his face, but stands nonetheless and grips Harry’s arm in a grip that has Zayn wincing and Harry grinning and walking alongside her. He’s never really understood their friendship, like, at all. “May I remind you that we were here first, my kind sir? But you’re right, we have class and Buchan probably thinks we died, we’ve been gone so long.” Harry snickers and nudges Eleanor to further expand her explanation. “We told ‘em Hazza had explosive diarrhea and he might blow at any minute, he totally bought it. Practically shoved us out the door. Best excuse we’ve used so far.”

“I don’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed.”

“Probably disgusted,” Eleanor supplies, opening the sliding glass doors that lead back into the library, leaving Zayn in his spot and carrying the weight on a suddenly sickly looking Harold. “We got a bunch of burritos out of the vending machine before we came over here and I think they might have been bad. He might _actually_ have explosive—”

“Don’t want to know.”

“—diarrhea. Louis’ going to be pissed I let him get sick.”

When Harry lurches Eleanor pulls him inside and Zayn watches them scurry across the library and to the bathroom before he sits back down in the farthest corner of the patio, out of view from any onlookers in the library, and he lights up a cigarette butt Tommy had lent him a few days ago. Zayn had been correct in his suspicions, Tommy was a really great guy to take a load off with, but with Louis having to keep his nose clean Zayn had made El tag along instead; even Niall had come with them the last time.

Liam had taken to Tommy well enough, laughing at appropriate times and inviting Tommy back to Liam’s house for dinner when El, Zayn, and Tom were the only ones stuck at the store just before closing. But Zayn didn’t like the air that stuck in the room when the three of them were together. His fingers tapped on his knee, eager to drag his nails across the surface of his skin and eliminate the itch of discomfort that came with lounging in the same room with a guy who knew he was keeping a secret from Liam.

But that was another story for another time, like never. Never was a good time. 

The comradery that struck Zayn as weird was the one involving a bouncy yet grouchy, little cheerleader and a stoner kid that hung around in the dark corners of a vintage record shop. Where Zayn was taken aback, Niall was relieved, saying that he was glad someone was trading shifts occupying El’s attention now that Zayn had better things to do. (“Like Liam.” “For your information, _I’m_ not doing Liam, he’s doing me. We haven’t switched yet.” “This is why we hangout the least, you know that?” “You know you’re my favorite, Nialler.”)

It’s not that Zayn didn’t trust Tommy, he did for as well as he knew him. If Zayn should be fretting over anyone’s wellbeing, it should be Tommy’s. He knows firsthand that Eleanor can be a handful, but Tommy was mature enough to choose his conquests. Not to mention that anyone was better than Mitch the Douche, so Zayn was happy. If not inherently disturbed.

Zayn wasn’t aware that El even knew who Bob Marley was? Hmm.

“You look a little lonely,” whispers a voice, one that startles Zayn and immediately makes him roll his eyes. He doesn’t put out the embers of his cigarette, only inhales once more and closes his eyes, hoping she’ll disappear in a whirlwind of curls and unnecessary smiles when he draws his eyelids back.

He’s not that lucky, but she _is_ that persistent and Zayn sighs with a heavy shrug of his shoulders before motioning Danielle to take a seat. She’s obviously not going away.

“I prefer it that way, actually. Being alone, I mean.” Zayn’s reaching the end of his temporary relaxant and Danielle’s presence doesn’t make him smoke any slower. “It’s nice not having to deal with people.”

It’s an underhanded insult and Zayn’s not rude enough to think that she doesn’t understand the back-lashing.

“I’m more of a people person myself,” Danielle muses. “There’s something about a crowd of people, attention waiting to be captured, laughs waiting to be had.” She shrugs, rubbing her delicate hands over the muscled arms sticking out of her uniform, skin pebbling at the chill in the air. “I like company, I guess.”

That sounds about right, just like Danielle to revel in the spotlight. As much fun as it is to re-learn facts Zayn has known for the longest time, he doesn’t care about this conversation at all in particular and his free period has over half an hour to go. He doesn’t intend to spend it sitting on the library patio with _Danielle,_ pretending that he doesn’t hate everything she’s about.

“Well I don’t.”

Zayn flicks his cigarette to the ground, stepping over it with his boot and standing up. He doesn’t want to be here any more than Danielle probably does, and if he can put an end to both of their misery, he’s going to try. Only when he passes Danielle, her grip is light on his arm but nothing less than insistent. “Can we talk for a minute? If you don’t have somewhere you need to be?”

Zayn can think of no place he _needs_ to be, but about a million places he would rather be. He tries voicing this in a nicer way, arranging the words in a way that doesn’t make him out to be a hateful bastard, but all he can scrounge up is, “No thanks. I’m not sure we really have anything to talk about.”

Unless she wants to discuss how she broke his best friend’s heart and tried breaking _his_ several years later. Zayn doesn’t trust Danielle, and he doesn’t like her. He would never go so far as to tell Liam not to be around her, mostly because Liam is not a piece of property and Zayn doesn’t own him, but because he trusts Liam more than that.

It’s a blessing in disguise that Liam’s been too busy to have time for anyone outside of their inner circle. Zayn can’t fathom the conversation that would take place should Liam ditch Zayn to go fucking bowling with Danielle again. He has a hunch that it wouldn’t be very pretty on Zayn’s part. And that’s a rather big deal, considering almost everything Zayn does is fucking pretty.

It’s not conceit, just honest criticism.

Zayn is snapped out of his self-appreciating thought bubble when Danielle speaks seconds later, biting her lip in a way Zayn thinks is meant to induce empathy but just makes him want to run in the other direction. “It’s about Liam. I think we should talk about Liam.”

She’s cryptic as all hell and it makes something dislodge in Zayn’s stomach. “Did you want to swap notes or something? I’m usually pretty private about what happens in the bedroom, but—”

“You’re funny—I like that.”

He’s not joking, not really. Sure he’d thrown a smidge of sarcasm in there, but that was for her benefit. He can’t realistically be expected to say, _Sure let’s talk about how I’m with the person you want to be screwing._ Zayn’s not that bitter, not anymore. He’s got Liam, fair and square and unlike Danielle, Zayn’s never been one to brag. He lets his record speak for itself. Liam is with him and that’s something Danielle is going to have to come to terms with. If not, he can’t say he really cares.

Cry him a river or two; he’s not trading Liam for the world.

Zayn shakes his arm from Danielle’s hold and she has the decency to look bashful at the time it takes Zayn to rub out the soreness her fucking claws had left behind. Nails, he meant nails. “I’m glad you appreciate it,” he says with a sharp smile, grin not quite reaching his eyes. “But look Danielle—”

“Please, call me Danni.”

He most certainly will not. “ _Danielle,_ we don’t have anything to talk about. I know you think we might, but we don’t. If you want to talk about Liam, he’s not up for discussion. If you came here for bargaining purposes, I’m sorry to disappoint you _—actually I’m not—_ but it’s not going to happen. I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to, but things happen. Move on. We have.”

Zayn’s going to be in so much shit for including Liam in his little speech, but to be fair Liam was the only common subject lying between the two of them. Zayn doubted Danielle came to him to mull over the latest Topman catalogue, even though he wouldn’t mind a refresher course, seeing as she had on the latest sandals and he hasn’t been to buy new clothes in a few weekends. What, Zayn kept an open mind.

His appearance was important to him; he wasn’t a heathen.

“I don’t want your boyfriend,” she huffs, and honestly, for a moment Zayn forgot she was even there, too caught up in his thoughts. She’s looking up at him from her seat, and if she’s faking the sincerity in her eyes, Zayn thinks she should be handed an award of some sort. Girl’s got fucking skills. “He was my friend, too, you know? I was wrong, okay? There was obviously something between you two and I tried to intervene. It didn’t work, though. I’m a big girl, I know how to suck it up.”

Zayn does not make a comment about how much she _sucks it up_ in his head, no he does not.

“But if I can’t have Liam around as, something more, I guess. I’ll take it.” Her eyes drop to the ground and when she looks up, her eyes are sad yet hopeful and dammit, she’s gotten to Zayn. “If all I can be is his friend, I’ll take it, Zayn. Please tell me that’s okay. I know you know what that’s like.”

“With a very special thanks to you for that,” he quips, rubbing his hands over his face and pinching his nose in between his thumb and forefinger. He’s got to match her levels of self-inflicting pity with a strong dose of sarcasm; it makes him feel better about what he’s going to say. “Liam’s not my fucking dog. If he wants to hang around with you, go to the movies or what-the-hell-ever, that’s his prerogative. I didn’t tell Liam he couldn’t do lame shit with you, like go hiking or breathe in the air of celebrities down at the shops, but I certainly didn’t encourage him to do so either.”

She looks entirely too eager for his tastes, so he knocks her down a peg. For humanity purposes. “And I don’t intend to now. When he wants to see you, he’ll ask you to come around. And maybe when he does I won’t be entirely opposed to it.”

“Thank you so much, Zayn. You won’t regret it, I promise!” Danielle is jumping from her seat with the objective of wrapping her arms around Zayn, but that’s the last straw and just something he doesn’t think he could come back from. When Zayn backs away, she casts a sheepish look at him, and it’s not something that Zayn is too naïve to fall for, he knows that maliciousness that one lied behind that soft smile and those kind eyes. “I just—this means a lot to me.”

His head shakes of its own accord, he feels like he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. And that includes the Eyeliner Debacle of 2011. But Zayn does know the feeling, knows how deep Liam can bury himself into someone’s life, so much so that there’s an obvious absence when he’s gone. It’s a hurt that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, which coincidentally is who Danielle happens to be. “Don’t thank me. ‘Cause if I’m honest here, I still don’t like you, and I definitely don’t trust you. I’m done competing with you, Danielle. I’m _done._ ”

All of the sudden the blood underneath his skin is running hotter, burning in his veins in a jealous rage at the thought of Danielle forming some sort of ludicrous plot at the expense of Zayn’s compassion. Her mouth opens in protest but Zayn’s got too much to say to be halted now. “This isn’t just for kicks, alright? I can’t—fuck, I can’t _breathe_ without him. I can’t. So if you’re in love with him, if you have some sort of ulterior motive, keep it to your fucking self. I’m through playing runner-up to you. Don’t take him away from me. Don’t even _try._ ”

There’s a passing of understanding, it’s quick and it takes Zayn by surprise, and in that instant he _knows._ The brief moment of silence is an acknowledgement to the suspicions he’s been harboring since she waltzed back into town. Zayn’s eyes harden is sync with his heart and he prepares himself for a fight, for her to resist against his words, but it never comes and she just looks sad.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to?”

“Not anymore.” And Zayn has to give her points for honesty, even if it’s something he’d rather not imagine, Danielle trying to steal Liam’s affections. She stands up, and Zayn is thankful that this conversation has a nearing potential to reach its end. “You may not have realized it, Zayn, but I was always the one competing against you, not the other way around. Liam’s been in love with you for a long time, but until now I never realized how much. He’s a good person and he’s been an even better friend to me, even after all I put him through.”

“Which is a great feat, considering.” The words are harsh but Zayn says it with a smile he hopes she catches on to.

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

“I’m having a hard time believing this is coming from the girl who asked my best friend if she’s ever tried a new hairstyle.” Danielle laughs and Zayn thinks he likes the sound, a laugh that’s not forced and vying for attention. He’ll never really get over her, or how she’s made him feel, be it inadvertently or not, but he thinks he could bear being around her a few hours a week. In the name of a fellow victim to Liam’s charms. “You know Eleanor is going to kill you one day, right? Whether we’re civil or not, she’s going to punch you in the face if you don’t get there first.”

Danielle flexes her arm and Zayn barely manages to make it inside the library without snorting his brains out. “You know,” she whispers, craning her head in his direction as they walk past the librarian who’s regarding them with a less than friendly distaste for all things teenager, “I don’t workout just to look good in my uniform. I think I’ll manage just fine.”

“Yeah, well I taught El how to throw a left hook, so watch out.”

**/////**

Liam’s waiting for Zayn when he comes out of Theatre Tech, flanked by El and Louis, Harry and Niall already scampering down the hallway to get to the cafeteria. Liam wasn’t kidding when he mentioned Chicken and Mash being their favorite day. Mashed potatoes and gravy sure as hell beat out whatever slop the lunch staff usually slid onto their plate.

“I thought you were meeting me by the truck.” Liam’s hands fall easily to Zayn’s waist and the broad span of his shoulders make a nice pillow for Zayn to rest his head on. “Why are these two hooligans here? I thought this was a lunch for the sane?”

Zayn’s had a hard fucking day, okay? And just being near Liam makes it a little better. God, when did he become so sappy? Zayn can tell he still reeks of smoke, if not from his own sense, from the way Liam’s face distorts when he gets close enough for Zayn to kiss. “Louis asked if he could tag along. I assumed you’d already asked El to come with us to eat with mum and Trish—”

“I don’t need to be _invited_ to family brunch, Liam. Karen and Trish have seen me with-out makeup on, it doesn’t get any closer than that.”

Liam’s nose is in his neck and fuck, Zayn can’t decide if the scruff on Liam’s chin irritates him or turns him on. Fingernails scratch at his back, itching up the bottom of Zayn’s shirt and pressing warm hands into the small of his back. “Why do you smell like an ashtray?”

“Tough day,” is his excuse.

“Did you get those from Tommy? Because I could have sworn we threw all your spare packs away.”

The cotton shirt covering Liam’s chest smells lightly of chlorine and Zayn’s nose picks up faint traces of the cologne Zayn bought him last Christmas. Zayn’s hands thread together behind Liam’s back and settle on the swell of his bum. It’s a nice bum, Zayn would squeeze it, touch it in some sort of way if he wasn’t so fucking tired. Or is Louis wasn’t eyeing him with amusement. He’s not there for his entertainment, dammit.

“Don’t give me shit, I’ve been playing Good Samaritan all day. You know I hate people, I needed a smoke break.” Zayn knows he’s playing unfairly when he kisses the pulsing point on Liam’s neck, teeth nibbling at protruding veins and his lips soothing soft nips with plush, open-mouthed kisses. “Do we have to go to lunch? I really don’t feel like sitting though an interrogation.” He bites again, trying to suppress the smile that’s threatening to spread across his face when Liam hisses at the contact of Zayn’s warm breath over slick skin. “We can go to the truck, pick up where we left off this morning? I’ll make it worth you while.”

“Babe, we can’t.” Liam put his hand on Zayn’s neck and cocked his chin up towards him, the pad on his thumb stroking his jaw. “Let’s just go and get it over with. I doubt it’s anything too bad, your mum sounded like she was excited.”

“Do you really want to talk about my mum when my hand is on your junk?”

“Your hand isn’t on my—oh! _Zayn._ ” And even thought Liam is pushing Zayn’s hands away, he’s arching into the caress of Zayn’s hands and he’s almost got him right where he wants him; lips fallen open silently as Zayn massaged the knobs of his spine. “We’re going to be late—fuck— _that’s not fair._ Okay, okay, we won’t—”

“No sir.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, because Louis is a fucking cock-blocker if there was one and Liam is being tugged out of Zayn’s grasp with an irritated huff for his troubles. It’s very fortunate on his part that he’s not sporting a blackened eye; him or Eleanor with the way Zayn is also hauled away, fingers lapping around his forearm to transport him to the parking lot.

“You’re not coming with us. It’s not fucking happening. I’m not getting grilled over finger sandwiches and fruity drinks with you two sitting next to me.” Zayn moves his fingers deftly to pinch the skin of Eleanor’s side. It’s either a testament to his recent lack of skill or El’s resistance to pain that she barely even flinches, definitely not enough for Zayn to squirm free from of her grasp and back to Liam. “I have low tolerance for awkward situations, you know this.”

There’s an untrusting glint in Eleanor’s eye. “We would never dream of making it uncomfortable for you two. We’re not even sitting at the same table as you guys. We just want to see how many free drinks I can get on the lunch hour if I let my hair down.” Zayn is having trouble deciphering the clenching in his stomach as disgust or pride while he watches her flip her hair and twirl it subconsciously at the ends. “Old men love me, it’s amusing.”

Liam is grumbling for Louis to let up so he can dig the keys to his truck out from the pocket of his jeans and Zayn is telling El how foolish she sounds, but silently high-fiving her where his boyfriend can’t see, the reason being that Zayn is so not properly prepared for two long, boring and entirely unnecessary conversations about responsibility in one day.

The added bonus of Eleanor tagging along to see how good of a fish she can catch with the jail-bait of her long legs and big eyes is that Zayn will have something to distract his attention when his mother inevitably bores Zayn to near-death with relationship advice and preventative measures.

Once Louis and El are sure Zayn won’t drag Liam off into a corner and stick his tongue down his throat—a conclusion they shouldn’t be so certain of when Zayn is subjected to the sight of Liam’s arms straining against the fabric of his shirt when he turns over the engine, _shit_ —they back off and settle into the backseat to talk amongst themselves. Liam is a cheeky bastard, pulling Zayn into his side after lifting up the removable barrier that they often used as a cup holder and something to keep Niall on one side of the truck. The car ride shouldn’t be too long, still, Zayn slumps against Liam with exhaustion and never has he been that Liam’s able to drive with one hand so his other hand is free to thread with Zayn’s.

“What do you think they want to talk about?” The almost absent-minded peck to Zayn’s hair has him smiling, even if it is only to himself while shitty-pop music drones on as the soundtrack to this even shittier car ride.

“Us,” he answers, spreading his palm out and eyeing how wide Liam’s hand fits against his own. The realization coursing through him at the reminder of how much Zayn had acquired in such a little time had the tendency to clobber him in the chest. “How long has it been since our moms have been out to a meal together? Long enough to make it too weird for it to be a coincidence. I just—I don’t—I don’t know.”

There’s a need for a red light, much more than the one that flashes before them and causes Liam’s feet to bottom out on the floorboard of his car. When Liam looks over at Zayn there’s pause in the world, a moment where it stops spinning and the deep brown of Liam’s eyes are shining with certainty and happiness, and that unwinds the cord that had spent the whole day coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of Zayn’s stomach. Those moments, where Zayn is transported into a poorly written romance novel and the ground stops moving beneath him because Liam is so beautifully _his,_ those are the moments Zayn lives for.

He doesn’t know at what point in time his insides were twisted up to form the fragile and equally pathetic heart of a teenage girl, but he doesn’t appreciate it. And if he can pull it off, he plans to blame it on Louis.

“I think they’re happy for us and they want us to know it, yeah?” He’s driving again and the moment Zayn had silently existed in by himself is shattered by the wide and goofy smile that’s breaking out across Liam’s face. Zayn envies his optimism. “It’s not like they don’t know.”

“They’d have to be fucking blind,” Louis pipes up. “Or stupid.”

“Or both,” Eleanor utters with a very unladylike snort.

_Attractive as always, ladies and gentlemen, Eleanor Calder._

“I know what you’re thinking,” Liam says, grinning into Zayn’s hair when they pull up at the pub and Zayn’s eyes land on the eyesore of Karen’s car, shaped weirdly like a cube and not at all suitable for thermodynamic or appearance purposes. Fingers are tapping at the temple of Zayn’s skull and Liam’s whispering into his hair after Lou and El noisily exit the truck. “You think that they won’t approve; that they brought us all the way out here to tell us we can’t see one another. Or maybe you think they’ll set some kind of boundaries, which are expected. We’re only just teenagers— _kids,_ even—”

“Speak for yourself,” are the mutterings Zayn uses in an attempt to salvage what little rhetoric he had left in him for the day.

Liam makes a choice to ignore him. He presses dry lips to Zayn’s forehead and slings and arm around the width of Zayn’s shoulders. “I love you, Zayn. I do. And if that means that I have to suffer through an earlier curfew or a few extra chores to be able to do this—” Liam lays a kiss at the end of Zayn’s nose, causing what Zayn is sure an unattractive squishing of his face. “—then so be it. I love you.” More kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Liam turns Zayn in his seat and the position is uncomfortable and weird and Zayn’s leg is bound to cramp at any moment now, but given the choice he would never move again.

“ _I love you,_ ” Liam says with a sound kiss to Zayn’s lips. Liam’s tongue prods at the frown of his mouth and Zayn’s taking the invitation and parting his lips on a moan. The sure caresses of velvet across the roof of Zayn’s mouth have his lips tugging into a smile that’s captured by the round edges of Liam’s teeth. “Now let’s go. I don’t want your mum to think I’m not punctual.”

Liam already has the car door open and Zayn’s tumbling forward, just this close to eating dust in the smooth material of Liam’s seats. Oh, he’s pissed.

“You cock-tease,” he yells, lumbering out of Liam’s huge fucking truck and landing solidly on the ground. Liam’s wrapping long arms around his middle, but Zayn isn’t having it. He did that shit on _purpose,_ and regardless if it was for Zayn’s wellbeing or not, it was mean. Just plain mean. “Don’t touch me, Payne. No— _no._ Dammit, Liam, I said no. That’s not fair, fuck. When did you get so good with your hands?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.” To prove his point, Liam’s pulling Zayn into the pub and towards the dark corner of the entrance, out of sight from any tables or patrons. They both laugh as Zayn’s head bonks the back of the wall he’s lead against and then Liam’s aforementioned hands are splaying on the back of his thighs and swatting at his ass playfully. Christ, when did he get so lucky? “Be good and we’ll drop the girls off at Lou’s for the afternoon, get back to what you started this morning.” Zayn wouldn’t believe the smile on his face if he didn’t feel it in the burn of his cheeks when Liam leant down to nuzzle at his neck. “Sound good to you?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, Liam.” Zayn never thought he’d be the one to play coy, flirting with his boyfriend—god, _boyfriend_ —right before he had to sit down with his mum and eat lunch like Liam’s not trailing his hands along the hemline of Zayn’s shirt.

“I’ll have to remind you, then.”

Liam’s about to pull Zayn’s hips flush against his own, Zayn knows it. But of fucking course, there’s Louis.

“Can you two keep your hands to yourself for five seconds?!” He huffs, even though Zayn’s the one who has to walk through a day-pub with a semi-hard dick and eat snack food with his mother. “I let you out of my sight for five seconds and this is what I’m greeted with. Honestly, guys. I expected this from Zayn, but Liam? I had _faith_ in you.”

“Louis? Eleanor? Lovely to see you, darlings. I wasn’t aware you would be joining us.” Zayn thinks that might be his mum, but the blood is rushing so fast in between his ears that it’s hard to distinguish, it might actually be Karen. The tiles in the floor seem to have an interesting pattern, so Zayn studies them. Studies them within an inch of his life.

“Pleasant surprise, as always.” That’s definitely the sound of Karen’s voice. Zayn could confirm that if his eyes weren’t firmly glued to the ground. “Now what are we talking about, hmm?”

Zayn’s head snaps up so fast, he’s sure there is some sort of law against Physics that he’s broken. He can recognize the mischief in Louis’ eyes, and if Liam wasn’t already red as he’s going to get from the tips of his ears to the skin leading away underneath his shirt, Zayn is sure he’d be blushing harder.

 _I will kill you,_ he mouths. But the smile on Louis’ face doesn’t give off the impression of someone that’s in fear for their life.

“Lovely to see you too, as always.” Zayn breathes a sigh of relief when Louis goes into detail about the ramifications of Trish’s new haircut and Karen’s new style and the tension in Liam’s shoulders obviously relaxes. “And we we’re talking about much, I’m afraid. Just about my disappointment in your incorrigible sons. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one couple’s libido so— _what would you say_ —well, I guess incorrigible would do there too, wouldn’t it.”

Before Zayn can reach over and rip Louis’ tongue from his head, Karen and Trish are laughing hysterically and El is holding a hand over her mouth to conceal her amusement.

Oh, Louis definitely won’t be breathing for too much longer.

**/////**

Aside from a lifetime of embarrassment, nothing much comes from lunch with their mothers. Liam has to spend a maximum of three nights at his own house, two of those nights by himself to catch up on chores and homework and time lost with his mum and dad, and Ruth whenever she drove across town to visit. Zayn is even luckier, his only requirements being that he keeps doing what he’s doing, on top of finding a place for Safaa to spend the day when summer comes around and everyone starts pulling more shifts.

Louis is a liar, and a dead man in Zayn’s eyes, and he and El do sit with them at the persistent requests of Karen, claiming it’s been ages since she’s seen Eleanor, and Trish’s insistence that Louis is every bit of her son as Zayn is. Eleanor wins points for trying to make lunch as bearable as she can, though she loses a considerable amount of kudos for laughing at every blush-inducing comment spewed from Louis’ mouth and oh so hilariously mulled over by the older ladies across from Zayn and Liam.

_(“Oh, honey, these aren’t going to do the trick.” Zayn does try to strangle him this time. Sadly, his hands are held in Liam’s, who shushes Zayn and joins their foreheads together, letting Karen and Trisha have their fun at their son’s expense while Louis continues. “I’ve been sharing showers with your son for years. Trust me, if you want proper contraceptive for your boys, you might want to try a size larger.”_

_To Louis’ defense, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to make such a comment if Zayn’s mum wasn’t such a little shit, setting a box of condoms on the recently cleared table, telling Liam and her son that not being able to get pregnant didn’t excuse stupidity. And this was news to Zayn, but Karen had been cleaning up Liam’s room for years and this was the only time she hadn’t had to turn her nose up at the heavy amount of condom wrappers in the trash bins._

_Zayn tried not to crawl out of his skin at the thought of Liam having sex with so many other people._

_“I’ve got some Magnums that Harry and I aren’t using; Niall got the wrong brand at the store.” Louis winks at Zayn, and as soon as his mum pulls out of the parking lot, Zayn’s going to wrap his hands around Louis’ scrawny little neck and never let go. “I’ll make sure these two crazy kids are responsible, ladies. Don’t you worry your pretty little heads.”_

_What made it worse was the fact that Trish and Karen were eating this all up._

_Zayn really doesn’t know what he did in his previous life to deserve this, but he thinks karma is being a bit too forward.)_

“Would you stop hitting me? I did that for you, obviously.” Louis’ pride is hurt, as is the upper half of his arm after Liam had let Zayn out of his sight for a second too long. “It’s called a distraction, Malik. Watch me and learn something.”

They’re back at school, parting ways with Eleanor and Liam, who have classes in another half of the school with the rest of their grade. Only Liam’s got a strong hold on Zayn’s waist, securing him in place and reassuring him that Louis was being a bit of a goof and it wasn’t that bad. Zayn doesn’t care for the soft lips at the nape of his neck—which is fucking saying something—because Louis is an asshole and he knows it, and no way would Liam and Zayn get away with it if they pulled something like that.

“You told my mum that Liam has a fucking _donkey dick,_ and that I couldn’t keep it out of my ass.” Louis rolls his eyes and walks past Zayn, smug smile still planted on his face. He’s near enough to kick, Zayn knows that, and his foot lands solidly on Louis’ bum. “You’re such a little _shit._ ”

Lou must have faith in Liam’s ability to hold Zayn out of range in order for him to keep talking, going on as if Zayn doesn’t already want to kill him. “Think about it. How many of those ridiculous rules did they give you? Like, three. You douche bag, I took a peak at that little list on Karen’s napkin and it was at _least_ ten items long.” Zayn looks to El for confirmation and she nods sympathetically at him, knowing how much it grates him to be wrong. “If it wasn’t for me and my flawless skills at elusion, you would be coming home at eleven every night and kissing Liam strictly on the cheek. Say _thank you,_ you tit.”

Zayn hadn’t set eyes on this supposed list, but it made plausible sense. He couldn’t really think of a time where Louis had acted so cavalier, even at his worst moments. Including but not limited to the time he’d conveniently mentioned Zayn’s new hidden tattoo to Trisha, knowing Zayn would get the hide taken out of his ass. Or the time he’d convinced Harry’s sister and mum to streak the night before the New Year. Both, Louis had concluded, were for the benefit of the many rather than the one. And it was true; what with the concerned lockdown Zayn’s parents had put him under, allowing the other parents to pay so much attention to him and his whereabouts that no one noticed when everyone excluding Zayn left to London for the night.

And there is no limit on the amount of guilty leverage one has when their parents run across the neighborhood in nothing but the skin on their back.

“If I find out that list doesn’t exist, I’m telling Jo you got Harry’s initials tattooed _on your ass._ ”

That’s all Zayn can say in lieu of being proven a fool with over-reactive tendencies. He and Liam exchange a quick peck and Zayn hits him in the stomach for laughing. Zayn isn’t sure what the fuck is funny. He hooks arms with Eleanor, leading them to the library because it’s the end of the year and no one is teaching anything important anyway. Plus, she’s in charge of Zayn’s secret smoke-stash now that she’s _“not dating”_ the stoner on the outskirts of their group.

In the distance Zayn hears Louis gasp indignantly, causing Zayn and Eleanor to snort. “If he didn’t want that thing to be used as blackmail, he shouldn’t have gotten it. It’s insane,” El says, winking at Zayn when she pats her pocket, acknowledging his assumptions when she lets Zayn take a peek at the baggie between the denim of her jeans. “And the letters are crooked, to make it worse.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yes,” she says, shuddering. “And god, do I wish I hadn’t. Lou’s ass certainly looks better in a pair of trousers.”

**/////**

During lunch Liam and Zayn had agreed that tonight would be a night spent at home.

“It’s one night, Liam.”

His face is in Zayn’s neck, not kissing or biting or licking, just resting and smelling and taking in the time they have together before Liam has to walk down the hallway and out the door. It’s odd, knowing that in a few minutes all that will be left of Liam in this goddamn room is the sillage of him on Zayn’s pillow. Something for Zayn to smell but not to hold, only a few of his senses being enraptured by the presence of the boy who’s lying all his weight on Zayn at the moment.

“We never spent the night apart when we weren’t dating,” he pouts. Zayn pokes at that protruding lip, catches it with his thumb and cranes his neck to kiss him. It’s soft and slick, the sound of smacking skin floating in the air, accompanied by the matching smiles and huffing laughter of both boys. “They’re being silly, I think. Or maybe they hate us, me, I mean. They don’t want me to spend time with my gorgeous boyfriend.”

Zayn snorts and lets Liam roll them to the side, legs tangling in damp sheets and slick foreheads meeting. “Flattery won’t get you in my pants, Payne.”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed an invitation.”

Zayn shuts him up with a kiss, only because it’s fair and not because he wants to kiss Liam. No, not at all. There’s a respectable deal of kissing after that, neither one of them wanting to move, even if the soft patter of footfalls in the hallway are blatantly telling them to get a move on. Zayn’s content right where he is. It’s slow, so slow, without the rush of panted moans and quick hands. Instead their usual dynamic is traded in for exploratory tongues and teasing rolls of hips that elicit electrifying shivers and breath-hitching shudders.

When Liam’s hands ghost farther, down the back of Zayn’s stretchy shorts and to his bum, threading handfuls of skin in his hands, fingers threatening to push past the cleft of Zayn’s ass, he puts a palm to Liam’s chest. “Go home, you perv.”

“Baby, no.”

There’s a low whine in Liam’s throat, one that radiates through Zayn’s body at the proximity of their chests and makes it hard to not pull Liam in again, let him turn Zayn over and put his warm mouth on the throbbing heat of Zayn’s dick and _suck._ Because Liam gave fucking fantastic head. It was the lips, he thought. The fat bottom lip that Zayn would give anything to keep pursing, but it was nearing eleven at night, and Trish was banging around in the kitchen, making her point well enough with various random shouts, letting Zayn and Liam know exactly what time it was.

“Come see me at work before school, hmm?” Zayn sits up, and crosses his arms, bringing his knees up to his chest. Liam isn’t amused to say the least, glaring at Zayn and putting a shirt on, staring angrily at the door, where Zayn’s mum lies with her hurried yells and clanging pans. “I’ve never had store room sex, wanna try it?”

That seems to be the antidote to Liam’s bad mood, and Zayn’s ankle is being used as a pulley to get him to the end of the bed, where Liam is standing. Zayn giggles at the onslaught of kisses he’s given, ones on his nose and neck and cheeks. “I’ll see you then,” Liam says, skillfully moving away when Zayn opens his mouth for a dirty goodbye kiss. He’s a sly little bastard, but Zayn can appreciate the retaliation. “I love you, even though your mum is downright mean and you won’t let me get into your pants.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder than a few compliments and some neck kisses.”

Liam opens Zayn’s door, surprised to see Trisha standing on the other side. He sends Zayn a wink before he’s gone and whispers, “I’ll keep that in mind. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Zayn’s mum peeks into his room, smiling sweetly at Liam until he’s gone and standing there awkwardly until they both hear the door close behind Liam. Zayn raises a brow and reaches for his iPod, hoping to break some of the tension with a smile, hoping she’ll take the hint and get the hell out of his room so he can get rid of the boner in his jeans. Also, she’s being weird, coming in here after she’d worked the night shift instead of going to her room and passing out.

“Can you come to the kitchen, Zayn?”

 _No,_ he thinks, _he can’t._ There’s a very pressing Meg and Dia playlist waiting for him and he’s got to respond to the text Eleanor sent him when he was laying in bed with Liam. Something about her needing help with English because she failed to pay attention in class, feigning ignorance when Zayn replied to her text and asked if her being behind had anything to do with Tommy. She refused to reply and Zayn went back on with his night.

“What do you need, I’m kind of busy.”

“Well, it seems your father checked the mail today and there’s an acceptance letter to a school in _California_ waiting inside.”

“Why are you opening my mail?”

“Son, that’s the least of your worries,” she says, face no longer concealed with forced smiles of happiness. “Get your ass in the kitchen. _Now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what'cha think! :D


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